Scomiche Oneshots
by theonewhofights
Summary: A whole bunch of Oneshots about two members of Pentatonix, Mitch Grassi and Scott Hoying, and how Scomiche is real and effects their lives. Was Mitch always that attractive? Did Scott always smile like that around the brunette? And would somebody please wipe that grin off of Kirstie's meddling face? SCOMICHE!
1. Shaving Cream And Sly Pranks

**What's up, everyone? I'm back after hibernating for several months! Woohoo! Hopefully not too much has changed since I've been gone. I'm starting a new series of Oneshots, which is this, and they are all centered around the pairing of Scomiche (Mitch Grassi and Scott Hoying). These short stories are for those into Pentatonix and who ship them. I'll start each chapter with an intro, and then a small description of the oneshot.**

 **But anyway, let's get started. Happy reading!**

* * *

"No! Get away from me! Ohmygod!" Mitch screeched, running as fast as he could. His feet pounded against the wood floor, desperate and scrabbling. Hysterical laughter was following him throughout the halls, getting closer and closer with each passing second.

"If you didn't want me to do it, then maybe you shouldn't have said it!" The brunette's taller counterpart, Scott, shouted after his other half. Mitch stifled the urge to grin and give in to the game, instead letting out a frustrated sound. He made a sharp left, curved to the right, and ended up in the giant living room. Great. Excellent. What was he supposed to use for cover now?

"Here, Mitchie Mitchie!" Scott called. Mitch's mind raced and his eyes wandered over the couch. Could he hide under it? No, Mitch was thin, but not _that_ small. Next was the rug; useless. The chairs, the pillows, the blankets, think think think think _think!_ Alright, so he couldn't fight Scott, or block him from coming in, or delay him in any manner. So what if Mitch...disappeared?

A moment later, Scott burst into the room looking ready for a war; his bright blonde hair was messy and ratted, his blue eyes sparking, and his lips were curled in a dangerous smirk. White cream was smeared across his jaw and there were trails of the stuff coating his hand. In the hand that wasn't covered in white, he held a bottle that had blue stripes and a space on the top that could be pushed down. It smelled of mint.

Shaving cream. Weapon of all insane singers whom wished to condemn their best friends to a smooth, minty kind of hell.

Scott surveyed the area closely, taking steps that were nearly silent. Nothing seemed to be out of place, because the pillows were in their messy order, the table didn't have anyone lurking under it, and the air was still. The blonde tilted his head to the side, staring at the dark blanket that was on the couch. It was in its usual untamed bunch, normal as normal got if you discounted the fact that it was moving up and down slightly. Mitch couldn't still be running around the house, or Scott would have heard him, which meant the tiny menace was in the blanket. The tall man crept towards the object, watching with increasing glee as the movement under the cover (qthat was surely Mitch trying to control his breathing or his giggles. Most likely both) began to speed up. His finger was poised over the shaving cream pump, ready to attack.

Beneath the blanket, the young brunette was curled up in a tight ball and was indeed trying not to burst out laughing and give away his hiding spot. He waited, listened, noticed how the noisy footsteps had stopped. Mitch decided to screw it all, and lept out just as Scott gripped the blanket and pulled it away.

Scott stumbled and fell as Mitch collided with his chest, sending them to the floor. Thus, a wrestling match ensued as the slight brunette tried to grab at the shaving cream and the blonde tried to grab Mitch so he could spray him. Mitch thought he won twice, but Scott seemed to sense the triumph rolling off of his body and yanked the can away in the nick of time. Scott thought he won thrice, but Mitch always seemed to sense when Scott's arms were beginning to get a grip on him and wriggled out of his grasp. They laughed and protested and cursed and Scott growled playfully a few times, rolling all over the place in their attempts to win.

Finally, Scott was laying on top of Mitch and using one of his hands to hold Mitch's lithe wrists above their heads. The taller man held the shaving cream close to Mitch's face, teasingly pressing the pump so that some cream oozed out.

Mitch writhed away from the cold foam, his face red and his eyes shining "Scott, I swear, if you put shaving cream all over my face I will beat you up!"

"Yeah?" Scott taunted, smiling evilly as more foam emitted from the can.

Mitch didn't let Scott's dominant position get to him, and nodded his head defiantly. "Yeah. I will beat you so hard that-" Mitch felt the white foam beginning to creep up and touch his sharp jaw. "NO! Stop, STOP SCOTT! YOU'D BETTER NOT GET FOAM ALL OVER ME!" The small brunette screamed, now wiggling frantically. Scott's strength kept his friend in place.

"I will not get foam all over you, ok?" The blonde laughed at Mitch's murderous facial expression. "C'mon, babe, all I wanna do is shave you like you asked!"

Silently cussing out whomever invented shaving cream, Mitch barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "I was KIDDING! Oh my god, can you not take a-STOP, SCOTT!" The white cream was now reaching the corner of the slight man's lips, and he would soon be eating the stuff. Gross. Mitch didn't think Scott would make him taste it, but he knew Scott would keep him here long enough to make him beg for mercy. Still, despite everything, Mitch could feel a smile twisting his face.

Scott grinned widely, recalling the conversation that had taken place not five minutes beforehand; the duo had just woken up, and had made their way to the bathroom. Mitch, being the smartass he was, spotted the shaving cream can and pointed out that since they did everything together they might as well shave each other while they were at it. Thus ensued the brunette running for his life.

"I am going to _kill you!_ " Mitch cringed, because now he really could taste the foam and it did not taste good. "Eww, I'm eating it! Get off of me!"

"But this is so much fun!" Scott realized that half of Mitch's face was covered in white stuff. "Oooh, you have a little something right there." The young brunette glared. "Maybe you need a tiny bit more right here." He raised the can and sprayed a dot on Mitch's nose, and then drew a smiley face on his forehead. Scott giggled at his finished product, because oh god, if Mitch looked in the mirror then Scott was going to die.

"You little _bitch!_ " Mitch's face felt all slimy and icky and freezing. As he fumed, Mitch felt the gears in his head turning and beginning to draw up a plan. Scott noticed the change in his best friend, because one second Mitch was fighting him and the next he was doing nothing except stare. The blonde resisted the urge to ask if he was alright.

"So _now_ you stop wiggling around?" He asked teasingly, finally throwing the can to the side. All of his attention was focused on the tiny brunette.

Mitch only smirked. Scott suddenly had the feeling that he should be very afraid. Noticing the look Mitch was giving him wasn't exactly a friendly one, the blonde was strongly considering getting off of him when-

Mitch's face moved upwards until his cheek was touching Scott's. He pulled away with a swiping motion of his head, and began to giggle once he saw Scott's face covered in white cream and his mouth was an undignified 'o' shape.

"Oh my god." Scott deadpanned. "I literally can't believe you just did that! I-" Whatever he was about to say next was drowned out by Mitch's laughter. The brunette couldn't keep it in any longer; he could feel his eyes gathering tears and his lungs shaking.

Scott, slightly annoyed that half of his face was foamy but mostly happy at the expression on Mitch's face, got off of the countertenor grumpily. "You are such a spoil sport." Mitch ignored him and continued to cackle, soaking up the revenge.

"You are awful." Scott announced from his position on the floor. He unfolded his legs and stood up, hearing his back pop. He groaned at the sensation.

"I'm sorry!" Mitch giggled, sitting up. Yet he still laughed and watched as Scott brought a hand to his face and wiped at the cream there. The blonde got some of the stuff off of his face, but he only succeeded in getting more of it on his palm. Scott considered flinging the foam at Mitch, decided against it because he wasn't going to play dirty, and began walking away in search of a towel.

The brunette pushed his tiny body from the floor in an easy move, his mind taking a second to replay the look on his best friend's face. God, but it had been priceless.

"You're going to regret doing that!" Scott called from the bathroom. There was a splash of running water. "Ew, do NOT eat the foam!"

"Too late!" Mitch yelled back. Come to think of it, the stuff was still on his face. He should wash it off-

The doorbell rang. Mitch payed it no mind and started to make his way to the restroom. Scott passed him in the hallway with a half-grin, moving the opposite way towards the door that was sounding again. The countertenor never answered the door; his social anxiety made every situation uncomfortable, even if somebody was trying to be friendly. Since opening the door to someone you might not know is awkward in itself the pair had come to an agreement that the stronger baritone would answer its every call.

Scott also agreed to this because he was slightly paranoid that a crazy-ass maniac would ring the bell, grab Mitch by the front of his shirt, and before the brunette could scream the weirdo would have drug him out of the condo forever.

Ok...so maybe Scott was more than slightly paranoid. But who wasn't?

The blonde finally grasped the door handle and twisted it. Standing in the doorway was his second best friend and the one he _wasn't_ in love with, Kirstie. Her hair was pulled into a messy, lopsided bun that tugged at the rest of her brown locks. She blinked her sparkling chestnut eyes at Scott (he was at least a half a head taller than the mezzo), eyelashes coated with mascara and her eyes lined with black. She looked weary but awake.

"I need to talk to you." Kirstie whispered, making a point to stare past the blonde and down the hallway, where Mitch's high voice was singing the words to a random song. Scott was momentarily confused (there was nothing the trio kept from one another, besides the single thing Scott would not tell anybody as long as he lived) and made a move to block her from coming in.

The mezzo was having none of that shit and grabbed a fistful of her best friend's shirt, yanking him into the hallway and closing the door behind him. Mitch's singing cut off abruptly.

"What the hell, Kirstie?"

The female singer bit her lip. "We have an offer."

Scott froze. For months after their contract they won from _The Sing Off_ expired, the group of five had been searching for someone else to help them go big again. Currently, Pentatonix was making their profits off of YouTube. Yes, they loved the Tube and communicating with their fans through it, but it wasn't what they wanted to do with their lives. They wanted to perform on stages again. And again. And again after that.

Scott and Kirstie had made it their mission to find someone who would produce and publicate their unique sound. The pair had failed...until now.

"What?" The baritone breathed. "Who? How? When? When is our first gig? Oh my god, why aren't you telling Mitch too? Kirstie-"

Kirstie didn't know what to do: look sad or look happy. She was feeling both in equal measurements at the moment. "His name is Randell Gregovich. He saw our evolution video two weeks ago and he called me up. Scott, he wants us to perform live."

"But this is great! This is amazing! You told him we would do it, right?"

"I told him we would think about it."

Scott's smile melted. Why on earth would she do that? If they waited too long to accept, Gregovich could change his mind and take off in an instance. "Why?"

The pretty mezzo bit her lip and took in a deep breath. This was the hard part. "He wants to pay us lots of money...and that's good...maybe go on a tour if we get big enough..."

"Kirstie, you-"

"The contract is only for four of us." Kirstie blurted, deciding to get the awful words out of her mouth. They tasted like garbage.

"Why not all of us? Together we're Pentatonix. _Together._ " Scott emphasized. "What's his problem? Which one of us doesn't he like?"

Oh no, but the words coming up next had the sting of acid. "He's a homophobe. He doesn't want Mitch."

The baritone's mind blanked and went white at these words. Mitch. Randell wanted Mitch out of the group. Mitch, who had the loveliest voice next to Kirstin, high and gentle and clear. Mitch, who's tone complimented everyone's, who's persona made every song a Pentatonix song. They couldn't lose him.

And Scott would never lose Mitch.

"Tell him to fuck off." Scott said, his voice stone cold and his expression even scarier. Kirstie had not seen her best friend this angry in a long time. "I don't care how much money he bribes us with. The answer is no. Not without Mitch. We will _never_ perform without Mitch. He can go die in a hole. Tell him ASAFP."

The mezzo gave an approving smile. She knew what she as going to say to the producer before she reported her fake findings to Scott. She nodded at the baritone and watched as he shut the door. A second later, she ran down the hall, her heels cracking against the tile of the linoleum, and swiftly dialed Mitch's number.

The countertenor picked up the moment Kirstie heard him say, " _I'm pissing! Don't come in!_ " A moment's pause. In a much quieter voice, he whispered, " _Omigod, you were so great. You should go into moviemaking, with that stellar performance._ "

"I try." She rolled her eyes and walked to the elevator. "So now you know how much he likes you. Kevin and Avi are gonna freak!" Kirstie squealed girlishly as her finger pressed the elevator button.

" _Don't tell them anything yet. It's not like we're dating. I still can't even believe we did this._ " Mitch chewed his lip. " _God, we are so evil._ "

"Born and raised as such. Guilty." Kirstie laughed. "Now go and watch endless movies and stuff your face with cheese, lover boy."

" _Sometimes I really don't like you and I really love you at the same time, Kirstie. Bye. Tell Avi and Kevin the queen dissmisses her Royal Court._ "

* * *

Mitch was curled up in front of the television, delicately eating popcorn and giggling every time Scott threw a piece in the air and missed catching it with his mouth. _Mean Girls_ was playing, but the brunette couldn't be bothered to focus on it.

"You have such bad aim." He teased, throwing his own kernel at the blonde. Scott caught it between his teeth, grinned, and flicked it into his mouth with his tongue. Mitch rolled his eyes.

The pair watched the screen until Scott broke the silence. "Kirstie came by today."

"Yeah?" Mitch feigned polite interest, and pretended to tear his eyes away from the movie. "What'd she want?"

"There was this producer guy who wanted to make is an offer. I turned him down."

"Scott!" Mitch exclaimed in mock-anger. "Why would you do that? We're living off of YouTube!"

"I know." Scott sighed and glanced away from his friend's dark eyes. "But he said he...um...he said he didn't like Avi. He thought we could be a proper group without him. So I said no."

Mitch didn't know what to feel when he heard the lie. "Oh. Well, it's good that you turned him down." Awkwardness decended upon the room, and the brunette silently picked at his food.

"Yup." Scott blinked. He came to the conclusion that he could do one of two things; kiss Mitch and confess his feelings for him, or flee from the weird situation and go to bed.

Wondering when he became such a coward, Scott got up and faked a yawn. "I think I'm gonna go to bed. It's late. And us running around a few hours ago wore me out." His paces were long and even as he walked to his bedroom. "Night, Mitch."

The countertenor stared at his back as he left. He then lifted the remote and shut off the TV. Disgruntled, he set his popcorn down next to him. Wondering when he became so brave, he picked himself up, fixed his hair, and followed the baritone before he could chicken out. He had something he needed to say.


	2. Late For The Date

**Hello everyone! Just a quick description of this oneshot and that's it; it's on the longer side, to start with, and it changes setting quite frequently. There isn't any real kissing and stuff until the end, for all of you who hate boy/boy love (seriously. It's 2016. There are gays and lesbians and bi's and pan's and asexual's in the world. Get used to it, cuz they ain't gonna leave for nobody, honey). It's a simple story, nothing outrageous going on, really something to read for a small kick.**

 **Disclaimer : The song lyrics sung by Mitch are from _La La Latch,_ which I do not own any part of!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

Mitch dove for the remote right as Avi was about to change the channel. The countertenor fought with the bass for the rectangular box for a grand total of five seconds, before the bearded man realized Mitch wasn't giving up anytime soon and let him have it. The smaller brunette pulled back with a winning smirk and returned to watching his favorite yellow sponge dance across the screen.

"Can't we watch something different for once, Mitch? You're always staring at that damned pineapple thing." Avi complained, sending his friend a cross look.

Mitch only rolled his eyes. "That damned pineapple thing, for your information, is where the greatest sponge ever lives. Therefore I will never stop watching it." The pink starfish from the TV made a dumb remark, and Mitch giggled at the screen. "Or Patrick. I will never stop watching Spongebob or Patrick."

Avi payed attention to the show for a moment, before announcing with a thoughtful tone, "I like the blue octopus thing. He's pretty cool."

The countertenor barked a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Squidward is like the grumpiest character next to Plankton!" Mitch gave Avi a sideways glance. "Makes sense though, because you're so grumpy all the time."

"I am not!" Avi exclaimed, offended and ripping his eyes from the television. He had to admit, the show was kinda addicting. Still, there were better things to watch.

"You are _so,_ Avi!" Mitch said right as his phone rang. He made a move to answer it, but not without gesturing wildly at the screen and mouthing _Best show ever!_ He tapped the button that would allow him to recieve the call and held the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

" _Mitch? Where the hell are you?_ " Kevin's voice was edged, nervous, and irritated. Above all, he didn't sound at all like his usual self. Mitch's face turned sour.

"At the house. Why?"

" _Didn't you remember? We're supposed to be at the studio writing down song lyrics! Original ones for the boss._ "

"What?" Mitch's voice became alarmed, and he was suddenly deaf to anything else in the room besides Kevin's annoyed voice. "The session is in four hours! At like eight at night!" Avi muted and paused the show so Mitch wouldn't miss anything; and god, did the sponge just shoot mustard into its ears? Ew.

" _We_ _moved it up to three thirty. Which was half an hour ago._ " Kevin paused; Mitch heard Kirstie whispering frantically on the other end. " _Because Kirstie has to leave at six to go to some special get-together thing or whatever. Anyway, you have to come now, we promised we'd have lyrics for everybody finished by the end of the session. Your part is still on hiatus, Avi came by yesterday and got his part done, and we've only got Kirstie and Scott halfway finished._ " Kirstie's voice got a bit louder and more urgent, and Kevin wrapped up the conversation with a rushed, " _Hurry and get your ass over here in like less than twenty minutes. Go, Mitch!_ "

The line clicked off. Mitch stood there for a moment, confounded, as the worried bass questioned, "What's up? What's wrong?"

Spongebob Squarepants forgotten, the brunette answered, "T-They need me at the studio like right now." Mitch wrung his hands. "Shit! I need to-I don't even know what I need to do-"

"Put your piercing in, change into some better clothes, calm your ass down, and get to the studio?" Avi said with a single raised eyebrow. "Because it's fifteen minutes away and you only have five to get ready." Mitch flicked his sarcastic-ass friend the finger and proceeded to run upstairs to his giant bathroom that he shared with Scott. Avi merely unpaused the TV and secretly switched the channel to _Mythbusters._

At first, when Mitch examined himself in the huge bathroom mirror, he had no idea what Avi had meant by suggesting that he take some care with his appearance; however, after a minute's worth of investigating, Mitch realized the bass was right. His dark hair was everywhere, sticking up in the back and drifting in his face whenever Mitch tilted his head. His clothes were rumpled and made him look edgy but disheveled (he was wearing a thin, loose, dark long-sleeved shirt and tight skinny jeans with combat boots). And lastly was his face, oh god; stubble was spattered around Mitch's sharp jawline, his eyes looked puffy and koal-black, and his cheeks were painted with all sorts of pinks and reds. His usual olive tone disappeared and became a light pale under the strong vainity lights.

Mitch frowned openly at his reflection, dissatisfied. There was nothing he could do about how puffy and tired his eyes looked, and he knew he didn't have enough time to change into something less skin-tight, and he also didn't have time to shave. However, Mitch did take a minute to fix his hair (that _one fucking strand_ was never perfect), straighten his shirt, practice singing to warm up his voice. His piercing! Where was his septum piercing?

" _I can't find your silver lining, I don't mean to judge..._ " Mitch's clear voice bounced off of the mirror and slammed into his eardrums. " _But when you read your speech, it's tiring. Enough is enough!_ "

Avi called from downstairs, "C'mon, Mitch! You can practice on the way. You've already been up there for five minutes!"

"DON'T RUSH ME!" Mitch screamed back, wiping some concealer underneath his eyes to make them less purple and continued searching for his piercing. Finally, he pinched the metal half-ring between his pointer finger and his thumb, grimaced at his mirrored self, and grabbed for the handle that lead out of the bathroom so that he could go downstairs.

"Why did you-what the hell are you watching?" The small brunette asked as he lept the final three steps in his hurry. Avi grinned unshamefully as Mitch ran around trying to find a jacket.

"I figured since you're not going to be here to fight for the remote, and neither is Scott, I'd take advantage of this rare time of peace and watch whatever I want."

"Lucky asshole." Mitch ripped through the coat closet. "Where is my hoodie? Ohmygod, I'm going to be so late!" He couldn't find anything he liked once another minute passed, so he slammed the closet closed with a frustrated huff. Ok, fine. He'd freeze his skinny boy ass off.

The countertenor finally finished his seven-or-eight-minute race with the jangle of car keys in his hand. "Spongebob is the best!" He yelled to Avi as he put one foot and then the other out the door. The brisk spring wind blew in his face and caused his hair (which he had been carefully arranging not moments before) to fly this way and that. Cursing, Mitch unlocked his car from the front step and wrapped his arms around his chest. He was on his godforsaken way.

"Go Squidward!" The bass returned right as the wind blew the door shut.

* * *

"Hey, Yolon-" Scott's face pulled into a smile, but the happy expression quckly dropped. "Oh my god, what happened?"

Mitch embraced the warmth of the room as he walked over to his friends. Blood was thinly coating the front of his nose and was half-dry on his lips, leaving a copperish taste in the brunette's mouth whenever he licked them. He had tried to put his piercing in while driving so he wouldn't waste any more time, but luck had not been on his side. When he noticed he was about to run a red light and slammed on the brakes, the piercing was already halfway in and...it got messy. And painful.

"Hey, Brianna." Mitch rubbed his hands together to get some warmth in them, and perched on the edge of one of the recording studio's chairs. "Does anyone have a tissue or something?" He lifted his eyebrows in what he knew was a regal look and molded his face into a mask of coolness. The brunette managed to hold it until his nose began to itch because of the blood and he let out a high-pitched sneeze. That sort of ruined the effect.

Scott and Kevin wore matching looks of confusion and shock. Mitch lazily held up the peace sign in their direction as Kirstie dug around her purse for a napkin.

"Here." She said, holding out the napkin to her best friend. Mitch took it with a glance that asked, _Water for the queen, please?_

The tall blonde threw a water bottle expertly at Mitch, whom caught it with equal expertise. He uncapped the plastic container, dampened the napkin, and dabbed his blood-covered nose and lips with it. "So, what are we working on? Ow, ow."

"Why are you bleeding out everywhere?" Kevin asked incrediously. Mitch shrugged at the beat boxer and took the napkin away from his nose to examine it; sure enough, it was now stained a dark red in several areas. At least it was off of his face.

"Let's say I learned never to put in a septum piercing while driving ever again." He relented willingly, pointing a finger at his bloodied nose. A sympathetic noise escaped Scott's mouth.

"And why does your skin look so weird?" Kirstie was staring at the bloodied napkin Mitch held in one hand with her gaze yelling concern. The other singer narrowed his eyes at it, and noticed that not only had blood come off on it, but some concealer had as well. His skin was most likely two different colors in some areas. God, he must look worse than before he had known he had to leave. Folding the napkin and dabbing at his eyes (they were tearing up out of embarassment and shame), Mitch sniffed once and said nothing.

Scott could tell that his best friend felt horrible about being late, and their interrogations about his appearance wasn't helping the matter. He butt in, "Give him a break, guys. He didn't even know we were supposed to be here because we forgot to tell him earlier." The blonde heaved himself up from the cream-colored chaise lounge he had been laying on and worked his way across the room to sit next to Mitch. Bending his back so that he would be at least mildly comfortable (how did Mitch fit into such tiny chairs? There was no room for your butt), Scott wrapped his arms around the small brunette, tugging him closer. Mitch automatically leaned against the firm chest waiting for him, and lifted a hand to hold Scott's elbow in an unrelenting grip. A flare of attraction sparked between them, but nobody in the room acknowledged it.

Mitch let out a breath, relaxing and feeling a comforting sense of calm settle over him accompanied by the usual spark of excitement he got whenever Scott held him. He wiped at his bloody and concealer-y face again. "So what are we working on? Kirstie, girl, you look amazing with that eyeshadow."

The mezzo grinned, batting her shimmery mint-green eyes that were lined with a bold grey. "Thanks. I thought I'd go for something different." She nudged Kevin with her boot. "C'mon, Kev, tell them what we've got." Wordlessly, Kirstie sent Mitch a mental _I'm sorry_ with her glowing eyes. A second later she got her mental reply; _No problem. After all, a queen has to take critizism from her subjects sometimes, right?_

For the next forty minutes or so, the group worked and pondered over lyrics and riffs and notes. Mitch learned that Scott had already decided he'd cover more bass so that Avi could sing more actively; Kevin threw a few new beats at them, some of which were good, some of which were bad, and one or two that were awesome enough to be songs themselves. Kirstie and Mitch tried switching dynamics on a song they'd been writing, only for fun, but it ended up sounding like nails on a chalkboard; the mezzo sounded like she was screeching when she attempted the high notes meant for Mitch, and the countertenor's singing was flatter than normal (most likely because he was trying to sing and get the blood off of his nose at the same time). They concluded that switching vocals wasn't too wise for the time being.

"You're giving me chills." Mitch whispered to Scott. Kirstie and Kevin were talking and comparing freshly-thought lyrics, so the brunette grabbed at the chance to converse with the blonde in a semi-private way, even if it was for a mere minute.

Scott didn't remove his nose from Mitch's silky smooth hair. It smelled of strawberries and because of this he had no intention of moving. "Hmm?"

"I can feel every time you breathe."

In response, the taller man pulled his face away from the back of Mitch's head and purposely blew a gust of air at his open neck. "I'm sorry, what were you saying? I was too busy breathing on you. Continue, please." He blew at the brunette's neck a couple more times.

"Stop!" Mitch protested, even though he smiled as he did so. "I hate it! Argh!" He swatted at his own neck with his free hand, feeling Scott dodge his swipes easily. Damn him.

The blonde let out a pleased laugh at Mitch's obvious struggle. "You look so cute, flailing around like that. I almost can't handle it."

At the jibe, Mitch suddenly stopped, not letting himself show how the comment affected him. "Shut up." He protested lightly, and twisted his head so he could get a good look at his friend's facial expression. Scott wiggled his eyebrows flirtily, and they both giggled, which turned into them both chuckling, which turned into them supressing snorts, which turned into both of them covering their faces with their hands as they cried laughing and their cheeks flushed red with hysteria.

"Mitch, are you okay?"

The brunette tried to nod, tears racing down his cheeks as his grin split his face and answered, "I'm-I'm okaawn!" Scott laughed harder when Mitch failed to pronounce the word due to his uncontrolled giggles. Plus he loved how hard Mitch laughed, making him blush once he realized he was thinking this (but it went unnoticed due to the fact that his face was currently beet red).

Kevin (always the professional) lifted an eyebrow in the general direction of the laughing pair, his eyes sliding to them for a moment before rolling and returning back to the lyric sheet. Kirstie was accostumed to Mitch and Scott's tendancy to lose their minds over next to nothing and ignored them (even though she was secretly giggling with them).

After ten more minutes passed, the session ended without anything else exciting happening. The team was pleased with the progress that had commenced, agreeing to meet up the following afternoon at five.

"Five in the _afternoon,_ Mitch." Kirstie teased, knowing her friend would be there on time without her nagging him. Mitch stuck his tongue out at her, taking the chance to untangle himself from Scott's arms. He watched the mezzo and the beat boxer leave ("Be here tomorrow on _time!_ " Kevin whispered, half-serious and half-joking; Mitch stuck his tongue out at him as well), and then tugged at the blonde's hands so he would get up.

Scott did as silently requested, pulling out his phone. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

"Oh, nuh-uh, queen." Mitch moved a hand back and forth in front of his own face, and then gestured to the length of his body. "I am so not dressed right."

Scott's eyes skimmed over the brunette's outfit. Everything clung to his skin except for his shirt; he looked sexy in Scott's opinion. "You look fine, Mitch. Dinner. Where?" He picked up the napkin his best friend had discarded, lifted it to Mitch's face, and wiped away the last of the blood that had been previously missed.

"Hmmmm." Mitch hummed, the motion making Scott's fingers vibrate. He smiled subconsiously. "For some reason, I want Chinese food. Chow mein and fried rice. Eggrolls." The brunette winked. "Yeah?"

That sounded good to Scott. "Sure. At that really nice place on the corner?"

It was as if Scott was reading his mind (Mitch wouldn't be shocked if he actually could). "Yes!" Waiting until Scott was finished, Mitch grabbed his hand and held it, linking their fingers together. "Is it still open?"

Biting his lip, the baritone checked his phone. Wasn't Google Maps ever so useful? "If you hadn't been _late_ -" Scott said the word slowly, emphasizing. Mitch hit his shoulder. "-it'd still be open for another hour. The app says it's going to close in thirty minutes. So we'll have to get our food and go."

It was decided, then. Without another word, Mitch yanked Scott towards the door, into the elevator, out of the lobby, and to his car.

* * *

"You look like a chipmunk!" Scott grinned at Mitch, whose face was stuffed with tofu. The countertenor swallowed hungrily, and dug around the plastic container for more. He hadn't eaten since noon, and it was eight at night. Who could blame him?

"The food keeps me warm." Mitch claimed, still rooting for tofu with his chopsticks. He found a piece within seconds and popped it in his mouth. "And it tastes _so_ good."

Scott sifted through his own food with less enthusiasim. They were sitting on a bench outside right by Mitch's car; the Chinese place closed five minutes after the singers had gotten their order and wouldn't let them sit inside ("You would have been able to if we were open!" The woman had directed them towards the door. "So sorry! Thank you for coming!"). It was less windy than before, but the air still carried a cold bite and Scott could see Mitch shivering under his shirt. It was so loose that it billowed and revealed his pale stomach, inviting cool air to dance around the area. Not that Scott was more interested in Mitch's smooth-looking skin over food. Nope. Not even a little bit. And he wasn't staring at the exposed place at all. No, sir. No he wasn't. Absolutely, positively-

"You okay, babe?" Mitch asked, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he chewed. Scott's eyes shot up to meet his, striking blue on dark brown. The light haze that had been enveloping his mind lifted, and Scott came back into proper focus and out of his thoughts.

"Fine." Scott dug through the white rice, seeking a sweet pepper to crunch on. The blonde hated most veggies, yet he didn't consider peppers too awful. Grateful for the change in his way of thinking, he focused on eating and not on the slight man dressed in tight clothes next to him. Mitch swallowed, suspicious, but returned to his food.

The past sixty minutes had been interesting to say the least, not counting the fact that Scott couldn't take his mind off of Mitch. Several men (and women) had approached the brunette in the hope that they would be able to woo him. Mitch turned down all of the women politely (though some were not willing to give up easily), but he showed interest in a few of the men. So far, though, Mitch hadn't accepted anyone's number, and for a certian reason he didn't try to hide from himself, Scott was pleased.

A man walking on the other side of the street randomly looked their way, and his gaze locked on Mitch. He looked both ways and began crossing the street. He held a sketchpad.

 _Great._ Scott thought bitterly. _Another one. Maybe we should finish eating in the car._

A minute went by before the man finally reached them. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and had dirty blonde hair and pale green eyes. Lean and thin, with a narrow face and straight nose. Even Scott had to admit that he was attractive.

"Hi." The man said breathlessly. "My name is Darin." Darin's eyes were locked onto Mitch like a magnet, and he acted as if Scott wasn't there. The blonde tried not to glare.

Mitch glanced up from his meal, holding a noodle in his chopsticks. He lifted an eyebrow (a move that always made him look regal) and sat up properly. His shyness battled with his vocal chords, threatening to close them off, but Mitch internally sassed them right back. "Hi, Darin. Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah." Darin blushed. "I was wondering...I'm an art major, and I was just wondering if you'd let me draw you."

Scott saw how dark the sky was getting, and realized that there wasn't enough light for Darin to sketch Mitch while outside. Darin was going to invite the small brunette to his place. All it took was Mitch's surprised moment of hesitation and a causious lift of his other eyebrow for Scott to stand up abruptly. Darin unwillingly tore his eyes from Mitch to look up at the blonde (who towered over him by a good four inches).

The baritone smirked at the height difference and tried his best to seem intimidating. It wasn't hard. "Thanks for your offer, but my boyfriend and I were just leaving." Scott leaned down and took Mitch's hand, grabbing his food with his avalible fingers. A startled Mitch followed the movements without question.

"I-um, yeah, sorry." Mitch said apoligetically to Darin, who wore a pathetically sad expression. "We need to go now. Sorry?" The last word ended weirdly. Scott sent the dirty blonde a tight smile and began leading Mitch away and towards the car.

Silently, Scott took out Mitch's keys from the countertenors butt pocket (which made the smaller man yelp at the unexpected contact), thankful that his jeans were so tight. The man with blue eyes knew that Darin was watching, and smiled wickedly at him from above Mitch's head. Not knowing what the hell was going on (and still reeling that Scott had taken out his keys for him; from his ass pocket!), Mitch awkwardly climbed into the passanger seat as soon as Scott unlocked the car, watching with wide eyes as the blonde got into the car to take the wheel. The brunette was still clutching his Chinese food, but he set it against the dashboard and forgot it.

Scott started up the engine, peeling off from the curb they had parked on and swerving into evening traffic easily: there was close to nobody on the road.

Mitch was unbelieveing. "What the fuck was that?"

Scott did not know what to say, so he didn't say anything and instead focused on the road and headlights and stop signs and not on Mitch not on Mitch not on Mitch and how the small brunette probably hated him now. Okay, he most likely didn't hate him, but Mitch was probably pissed. His best friend proved his point by hitting the taller man's arm.

"Hello? Scott! Why would you pull that shit?" Mitch said, exasperated and expecting an answer.

The blonde licked his lips uneasily. Mitch found his eyes following the gesture unconsiously, and almost laughed: even when he was angry with the baritone, he still found him attractive. Just his damned luck, right? "Scott. Tell me. Please."

"Didn't you want him off of your back?" Scott answered Mitch's question with a question. His teeth gritted together, his jaw locking in place after a few more seconds.

"He wanted to draw me!" The brunette wasn't upset at not being someone's muse, he was upset that Scott pulled a rude move like that, _touched his ass,_ and then didn't even try to justify his actions in any way shape or form. "And you yanked me up, rejected him, and dug your hand into my ASS POCKET!"

Unexpectedly, Scott started giggling. When Mitch sent him a strange look, he said, "I thought you were going to say _dug your hand into my ass._ " He snorted loudly. "For your information, I did not _dig my hand into your ass pocket;_ I was searching for your keys, they just so happened to be in your back pocket, and you just so happened to be wearing really tight jeans. Tada."

There was silence in the car for several minutes. By the time Scott reached the house he shared with Mitch, it was nearing eight thirty and the sky was pitch black. Clouds were invisible and the sun was asleep. The pair sat in the car, soaking in the blankness.

Nothing but nothing. Then-

"Did you like it?" Scott asked out of the blue, because there was nothing he wouldn't ask Mitch Grassi.

"Like what?"

"Me touching your butt?"

Mitch swallowed, reliving the moment; the tingles that blossemed in his bones, the spark of lust he had felt, and for the time being he had craved the chance to say that the blonde was actually his boyfriend. Since there was nothing he wouldn't tell Scott Hoying, the brunette let out a shy, "Yes." He hid his face by glaring through the window. Shit, he shouldn't have said that.

In response, Scott opened the car door and exited. Sighing in resignation, Mitch copied him and followed the baritone to the front steps of thier house. The house keys tinkled in Scott's hands as he chose the correct key on his first try and unlocked the front door. Without a sound, he held the door so that Mitch could enter first. Usually the smaller man would teasingly thank him, but tonight he could feel a blanket of solitude wrap aorund him. He didn't like the feeling at all. Mitch began to walk up the stairs.

"Mitch." Scott called. The countertenor glanced back warily.

The blonde closed the door behind him, locked it, and turned to Mitch, whom had decided to make his way to his friend instead of putting distance between them. Distance wasn't good. Distance was never good. Anyway, the brunette felt warmer around Scott; maybe the house was really cold...maybe he should crank up the heat or something.

"I wanted to say..." Scott ran a hand through his hair. Mitch recognized the nervous gesture and was instantly curious. "I-I...um..."

Right when Mitch was about to make fun of Scott for his inability to say two simple words, the blonde huffed in frustration, grabbed both sides of a surprised Mitch's face, and pulled their faces together.

The kiss wasn't like in the books or in the movies; it didn't make Mitch feel as if he would die of happiness in the next second, it wasn't absolute utter perfection, and it didn't feel like the thing or the moment that the brunette had been waiting for all of his life. Kissing Scott was weird, but so so good; his lips tasted like sweet peppers and the cold night air, sending a zap of lightning through Mitch's bones and leaving him craving more. Mitch always craved more whenever he kissed somebody, more of that letting-go, forgetting feeling, but Scott made Mitch feel stronger and more alive. Happier. Even when they weren't kissing.

The brunette pressed his thin body into Scott's, working his lips expertly against the blonde's. His partner responded in the like, wrapping an arm around Mitch's waist and burying one hand in his hair. Oh, but Mitch had lied before about this feeling good, because it started to feel _really_ good once Scott moaned into the smaller man's mouth and his hands turned clammy with desire and _wow_ , Mitch had no idea that the baritone could do that _amazing_ thing with his tongue-

They pulled away for air, still hovering in their embrace and staring at the each other. After a moment, Mitch licked his lips to get the remnants of the sweet pepper taste and gave a smirk.

"I didn't give you permission to kiss me." He said.

Scott tilted his head to the side, his eyes lighting up. Or had they always been that bright around Mitch? "That must be because I didn't ask."

"You should've."

"Yeah?"

Mitch smiled. "Never ask to kiss me. Just do it."

"Are you sure? That means you're giving me free rein." Scott leaned down and brushed their lips together softly. "I get be pretty creative when I have free rein."

"I know." The countertenor giggled. "Trust me, I know."

Their foreheads touched as they laughed, both knowing that the other's head was swimming with memories and kissing and whether or not they'd wish it happened at all.

"This would have never happened if I was late." Mitch realized, blinking up at his best friend/boyfriend. It was true; if Mitch hadn't been late, then the session would have ended on time. Scott and Mitch not only most likely would have picked a different place to eat, but even if they had picked the same place they would have been allowed to eat inside because the place wasn't closed. And even if all that had happened without Mitch being late, Scott would've never been provoked to reach for Mitch's back-pocket keys because he would've had no reason to. So the two shouldn't be making out downstairs, tangled in a mish-mash of arms and hips and legs, kissing for the first time. They should be upstairs, laughing and singing together about something or nothing but certianly not doing...other things.

Mitch had an image of studded collars, a leash, a whip, and a bed. He blinked again and suddenly wondered if the taller man was into that kind of stuff. Inwardly snorting, he shoved the picture from his brain. He needn't scar himself.

Scott's expression didn't change. "Then I'm glad you were late. It led to this-" He tugged Mitch's hair so his head angled and exposed his neck. The blonde bent and licked the pulse point that was throbbing beneath his mouth. The brunette gripped the front of Scott's shirt and sighed breathily at the action. "-and I'm pretty okay with doing that. Many more times."

Mitch broke through the haze enveloping his mind and smacked Scott's chest once he recognized the taunting edge to the blonde's words. "I am going to hurt you."

Scott lifted an eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind. Just depends on where and how."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Chains. Handcuffs. Rope.

"If you're hurting me like this..." The baritone bit Mitch's soft skin, forcing the other man to shudder. "Then I won't mind."

"Makes sense." Mitch nodded, his heart swelling and skipping beats. He laughed once. "Dear god, Scott... _what did you give me to make my heart beat out of my chest?_ "

Scott smiled at the song reference and thought it fit the current siduation quite well. A few select songs always did. "I'm happy you were late." He claimed again, listening to the smaller man's unsteady breathing. "Be late more often, okay?"

Mitch disagreed, which was rare when the person he disagreed with was Scott. "Oh, no. The queen has already promised to be on time for the session tomorrow. At five in the afternoon."

"Hmm..." Scott hummed, his hands starting to trail paths along Mitch's back, already thinking of certain things he wanted to do before then. "Maybe we should call ahead and change that."

* * *

"Where is Mitch?" Kirstie exploded, sending one last searching look at the room they had met in yesterday and coming up with nothing. Irritated, she turned on Kevin.

The beat boxer was checking his phone. "I don't know. He should be-" Abruptly, the screen changed colors and the tiny device began belting out the lyrics to Taylor Swift's _Bad Blood._ A muffled laugh escaped from behind Kirstie's hand, her annoyance momentarily forgotten, and Kevin glared with no real venom in his gaze. He pressed the accept call button.

"Mitch?"

" _We're running late, sor-HEY! WATCH OUT FOR THAT DUCK!_ " Mitch screamed through the phone. Kevin held it a decent distance from his ear; Mitch's high voice mixed with the sharpness of the phone mixed with the screeching of car tires was causing his ears to become inside-out. " _CAN YOU NOT DRIVE A CAR SCOTT? GOD! YOU ALMOST KILLED IT!_ "

The baritone's deeper voice sounded, calmer but indignant. " _Mitch, would you calm the fuck down? It was in the middle of the damn road and I didn't see it._ "

Over the phone, Mitch huffed. " _Well, at least you didn't run it over. Thank you._ "

"Hello? Crazy maniacs? Where are you?" Kevin broke in. Kirstie swiftly made her way to his side, listening intently.

" _About fifteen minutes away._ " Scott said, his tone crackling. " _We had a late start._ "

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Late start? It's five thirty in the p.m.! How can you have a late start?"

" _We were up until nine in the morning and Scott forgot to set the alarm._ "

"Why were you guys up until nine in the morning?"

Mitch paused before answering. " _Scott and I were busy._ "

"Doing what?"

Neither singer made a noise for an instance. Then-

" _Being late."_ Scott said. _"What else would we be doing?_ "


	3. The Filming Of Daft Punk

**Heyo! Another few days, another oneshot! This one, as you can probably tell by the title, is about a brief few moments behind-the-scenes as Pentatonix prepares to film their Daft Punk tribute. Fluffy and sweet, because who doesn't love fluffy and sweet?**

 **Also, the few lyrics in here are from the Daft Punk video, which I do not own. So disclaimer!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

"The contacts hurt my eyes!" Avi complained from across the room. The bass was blinking rapidly, trying to resist rubbing at his eyes, which were currently a particular tint of neon blue. Kirstie gave a disbelieving look from her spot next to him: at least his costume was simple. She had to put on a wig and have glitter painted all over her face. Her eyes, however, were still a light chocolate brown.

Scott saw Kirstie's expression and laughed from behind his hand. The blonde's hair and eyebrows had been dyed a shocking white, and his eyes that were usually a striking blue were now exact replicas of Avi's. He strightened the collar of his dress shirt in nervousness. Today was important because they were filming their tribute to Daft Punk. Everything had to be perfect. No exceptions. Scott bit his lip and adjusted his shirt again. If everything had to go smoothly, that meant something was bound to go wrong.

"They itch really badly." Sure enough, when Avi glanced up to meet Scott's gaze, the white-haired man winced. The whites of Avi's eyes were beginning to turn a nasty red, and the veins seemed about to pop. They must be irritating him.

"Take them out, Avi. Wait until we actually start filming to put them in, because they look like they're hurting you." Scott checked his phone. "Yeah, you've got time. We don't start for another forty minutes."

"Ugh!" Kirstie bemoaned. "You guys are lucky. They want to put glitter on my face." She drew a T shape with her pointer finger, going along her eyebrows and ending at her chin.

"You're such a liar." Scott lifted his whitened eyebrow. "You know you love it."

The mezzo chose not to respond, but Scott got all he needed by her small smile. Kevin was beatboxing from his space on the small couch, wearing a really cool pair of glasses that looked like they were plucked from a sci-fi movie. "Bnt, bnt bnt bnt, pooooohhhhoooooit-pop nnnniiioommmmph!" Scott had no idea (and would never have any idea) how Kevin could move his mouth the way he did, creating such cool sounds without getting tongue-tied. The blonde with white hair sighed.

"MITCH!" Scott called to the room, missing the brunette more than anything at the moment. Wishing that his best friend had the ability to mind-telepathy him (Scott had heard that some close friends could do that), he resigned himself to another however many minutes without him.

"Why can't you just telepathy him?" Avi asked in his deep tone, pinching at his left eye and trying to remove the contact without the tiny thing ending up on the floor or inside of his brain. Kirstie noticed his struggle and reached to help him: her nails were longer, after all.

"If I could do that, I would be doing that right now." Scott bit his lip, grinning. "And he'd be mentally screaming something like 'I AM QUEEN!' After a while of that, I'd go nuts."

Several moments passed in silence, with the exception being Avi's irritated huffs as Kirstie attempted to remove his other contact. Soon enough, a voice from outside the door could be heard singing, steadily increasing in dynamics as the seconds crept on. The others weren't exactly sure who it was, and they had their guesses, but only Scott could tell instantly that it was Mitch. Nobody else he knew could belt out words like that.

" _Work it harder make it, oh do it faster, makes us! More than ever ah hour after, our work is never over!_ "

"WORK IT HARDER!" Scott yelled at the unmoving door. Kevin cut off his beatboxing to hear.

"MAKE IT BETTER-"

"DO IT FASTER-"

"MAKES US STRONGER-"

At this point, Kirstie joined in. " _Morethaneverhourafter, our work is-_ "

Avi sang his part loud enough for Mitch to hear outside the room; "- _never over._ "

The door burst open, and a energetic Mitch Grassi entered the space dressed in a purple and blue shirt and black pants. The brunette didn't hesitate and with a shy grin immediently walked to Scott's side. He raised an eyebrow at his best friend's shockingly bright hair.

"Hi Theresa. You have eyebrows." The countertenor teased, knowing this would annoy the singer. Sure enough Scott scowled, lightly hitting Mitch's arm.

"And you have blue eyes, Magonolia." He retorted. Like his friend, Mitch's eyes that were usually a dark soulful brown had been transformed into a positively electric (and slightly unnatural) blue. Scott frowned, finding himself instantly disliking the look on Mitch; the contacts sucked all the depth from his gaze. Still, he didn't want the brunette to feel unpretty, so he said, "You look really cool, though."

"Really?" Mitch lifted his hands and organized his hair. It never seemed to satisfy him, what with its baby thinness.

Kirstie glanced up, finally getting the bass's eyes back to their original hazel-green. She smiled widely at her best friend's new look, and nodded. "Scott's right. You look awesome."

"Why is your face all puffed, Avi?" Mitch accepted his Starbucks drink from the baritone's reaching fingers, taking a sip from the straw. The cold liquid tasted of caramel and coffee beans, a mixture that always calmed the small countertenor. Swishing it his mouth to soak up all of the flavor he possibly could, he swallowed and sent Avi questioning look.

Kevin had resumed his beatboxing, and paused again to answer. "Those contacts mess up his eyes. Probably an allergic reaction." He stopped, uncertain of the next words he wanted to use and how he wanted to use them. "Maybe you shouldn't wear them, man."

There was a startled cough as Avi choked on the water he had been drinking. Scott made a move to hit him on his back, but the bearded man waved him off. "N-No." He hacked again. "I'm wearing them. If I don't, I'll seem out of place. The whole purpose of the video would be destroyed. I'm wearing them, Kev."

The beat boxer wore an unsatisfied expression, but let the notion pass. There was no changing Avi's mind once he had his thoughts set on doing something. The group had learned that any attempt to do so fell on deaf ears.

Speaking of deaf ears, the room grew quiet once more. Scott felt the already high tension crank up several notches. It's not that they didn't have anything to say; the group of five could chatter on for hours and hours without becoming tired. But by this point, there was nothing left to do until they started filming in half an hour (had ten minutes gone by that fast?); Avi had worked out his contact dilemma, Kirstie and Mitch had worked together to make sure their part didn't sound like they were hyenas. Everything was in order, so there was nothing to do but wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Mitch slurped his coffee without grace to break the silence, which made a sucking noise emit from the plastic cup. Scott snorted once and giggled while the countertenor glared. "Oh my god, shut up! You don't drink it any different!"

"I don't drink it like _this_ -" The white-haired blonde sipped his drink obnoxiously, making a show of jostling the beverage every which way and assuring that it made weird nails-on-a-chalkboard sounds. He rolled the straw a particularly distracting way with his tongue, and Mitch abruptly found himself staring at Scott's mouth in a way he couldn't describe. The baritone stopped laughing after another minute, slightly concerned at the expression of concentration on Mitch's face.

Kirstie noticed too, pausing with her eyeliner half-drawn. "Are you okay, Mitch?"

The brunette blinked, snapping out of his focus. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine." He said, lifting his own drink to his lips without glancing down to make sure it was where his hands had left it. He miscalculated where it was and in the next second the coffee tipped over. It didn't have a lid.

"NO!" Mitch screeched, watching as his shirt became sopping wet with Starbucks. "Shit!" He stood up and gingerly held the coffee away from him. Sighing, he set it down on the wooden table in front of him and bunched the shirt in his fist, making sure none of the soaked fabric touched his skin.

Scott grimaced and rose after his friend. "You need to change your shirt-"

"I know!" Mitch snapped, though he wasn't angry at the handsome neon-eyed blonde, he was angry with himself for allowing such a thing to happen. Cursing, he glanced around for the tissue box (also helpfully placed on the table) and grabbed five or ten or thirty or so to mop up the coffee. "I spent _forever_ today trying to find a shirt...and now coffee is all fucking over it!"

"Calm down, Mitchie." Scott said in his most soothing voice, counting on its relaxing effects. Mitch looked up at his best friend, his features becoming less panicked as they softened. "We'll find a new shirt."

"In what, thirty minutes? There's no way, Scott, there's no way!" Mitch's voice was tinged with hysteria. He only had a half hour to change. A half. Hour. Impossible.

 _Fucking dammit, Scott! Why is your mouth so distracting!?_ Mitch thought almost angrily, still mopping at the coffee. He could feel his careful patience cracking.

Kirstie set down her make up and hopped out of her seat, in the same motion removing her phone from her front pocket. Her fingers moved swiftly across the keys. "I'm going to text Tina to tell her to start looking for a shirt. Plus she needs to finish my make up."

Avi also got himself up from his sitting position. "I'm going to go get some more water. Kevin?"

Kevin's eyes darted between a fuming Mitch, a wary Scott, and a comforting Avi. The decision was a no-brainer. "Yup, I'll take a break until we film. Want anything, Scott?"

The white-haired blonde kept his gaze trained on Mitch, who had gone from flaming anger to merely broiling. "No, I'm good. Meet us in the filming room?"

Kirstie's phone bleeped. She checked it. "Tina says she can't look for a shirt for Mitch because my make up is going to take forever." The mezzo's shoulders noticeably drooped as she continued to read. "And she says that we need to practice at least once, ten minutes before we film. You guys should hurry. I need to run."

Avi nodded at the beat boxer, and three of the five Pentatonix members left. The two who remained both began to talk.

"New shirt, now." The neon-eyed pair said at the same time. Mitch smiled at their sync despite his ruined shirt, and reached out a hand. Wiggling his fingers teasingly, he made a compromise.

"You hold my hand, I don't bitch about my shirt. Deal?" He cocked his head to the side innocently.

Scott's heart leapt at the invitation, and he gladly took the countertenor's hand and wove their fingers together tightly, pulling Mitch's warm body to his side. Lifting a white eyebrow, he nudged his chin in the direction of the door and tapped Mitch's palm with his thumb. The brunette squeezed his hand in response, and they made their way across the room together.

* * *

"What took so long?" Kevin's eyes boggled as he watched a very ratted and mussed Mitch drag Scott to the room they were to briefly practice in, hand-in-hand. The brunette's hair was kicking up in the back, and a few strands were pointing in random directions. It was the only result of how much he and his other half had played with tea array of costumes. God, it had been fun.

Scott continued to hold Mitch's hand. Teasingly, he sent the countertenor a grin. "Mitch couldn't find a shirt. He didn't like _any_ of the ones I picked out until he finally did it...he said they were too tight or hot or plain, or something _stupid_ like that."

Mitch hit the white-blonde's arm. "I am going to hurt you." He threatened. Scott responded by rolling his eyes. At least Mitch favored the shirt he was wearing now, a black-and-white collaboration. The baritone thought it looked good on him.

Kirstie and Avi suppressed smiles.

"Are you guys ready? We need to run through the entire thing really quick so we can get started." Kirstie explained, the glittery T on her face shimmering in the light. Her eyes had been transformed. Avi's were still hazel-green.

Scott nodded. "One, two, three, four-"

" _Buy it, use it, break it..._ " Mitch began singing in his high, clear voice. The group of five swiftly lost themselves to the music, sensing the firmiliar hum of sound and energy wrap around them. It was a freeing, happy feeling, giving their heads a pleasant buzz and filling their hearts with a new purpose.

" _Last night, I had this dream about you. In this dream, I'm dancing right beside you. There's nothing wrong with just a little bit of fun, and we were dancing all night long..._ " Kirstie's tone blended nicely with Avi's bass notes; the five were just getting in a good groove when they were interrupted by Tina, one of the make up artists who doubled as the directors assistant. Popping her head in the doorway, she was able to listen to how the several voices of Pentatonix died within seconds. Tina frowned.

"It's time to start filming, guys. Let's get a move on." Everyone started to shuffle out the door. Tina stopped Avi. "Whoa, mister, where are your contacts?"

The bass was slightly dumbfounded. "I, um, they were hurting my eyes. So I took them out and I was going to put them back in once we started."

Tina shook her head at him. "C'mon. You need to get those bad boys in."

As they all walked towards the filming room, Scott turned to Mitch in order to convey his curiosity that he knew only the brunette would understand. "What do you think will happen if Avi's eyes get so annoyed by the contacts that they dry them up and he goes blind?"

The small brunette gave his best friend an even look. "Then that would be very sad."

Feeling a spark of mischief, the neon-eyes singer said with a more suggestive tone, "What would happen if I went blind?"

Mitch hit Scott on the arm again. The baritone almost didn't feel it because he was so focused on what the brunette was going to say next.

"That would also be sad." He relented, giving no more than that. The pair continued to walk down the hall, almost to the room now. "That would be very, very sad. Don't go blind on me, okay? Then you'd never see my gorgeous face."

Scott reached for the handle and held the door open for his favorite (although he was biased) mezzo and beat boxer as they made their way in the room. It was tall and long, and held lots of backdrops and props. Basically, it was super cool.

He quirked a joking eyebrow. "Hmm. I think I could live without seeing your face for a while."

"No you couldn't, queen, because no one can."

The baritone laughed, and before he realized what he was doing he bent slightly and his lips connected with the smaller man's forehead in short, sweet kiss. When he pulled away, he was pleased to note that his best friend had a glazed, unfocused glinting in his unnatural neon eyes.

"You're right." Scott mused, trying his best not to blush. He could tell it wasn't working; heat was creeping up his neck, he could feel it. "I won't be going blind anytime soon, mmmkay? I promise. Just so I can see you everyday." Here he paused like he was debating something major. "And so I can see the rest of the world too, I guess."

Mitch literally had no idea what to say. No witty remark was coming to his kind, so he settled on biting his lip (which Scott found really cute) and saying, "Good. Now let's get filming because I don't want Kirstie getting on our asses about stuff later."

The white-blonde heartily agreed, and watched as his friends gathered around the set. It was time to film a music video.


	4. Glasses

**Yasss! Super uber ultra quick update! This is a smaller oneshot, since I wrote it in an hour or two. I was watching Superfruit and in the episode Mitch is wearing glasses and pushes them up a lot; thus, the idea for this story was born! A quick summary: Mitch hates his glasses, and Scott thinks he looks great in them. So what is the blonde going to do to change his boyfriend's mind?**

 **Read away!**

* * *

"Those glasses make you look super fucking cute."

Mitch felt his insecurities grow as he glanced at his boyfriend, sending him a shy smile. His black glasses began to slide down the bridge of his nose again and he used his pointer finger to push them back into place. Honestly, if he hadn't run out of contacts, he would _not_ be wearing these thick-ass lenses right now.

Wrinkling his nose, Mitch scrutinized his reflection in the bathroom mirror for the fourth time. He and Scott were currently in the restroom of one of their favorite clothing stores. The brunette had to see while he was walking about in public (not only that, but he had to look damn good); since his nerdy glasses were the only item available, he had to use them. His blonde counterpart had insisted he pulled off the plain black style fabulously, and because Mitch really wanted some new clothes, he grudgingly decided to wear them.

The countertenor sighed. It was only for an afternoon, right?

Scott smiled and took the brunette's hand, effectively dragging his focus away from his glasses for a moment. "Stop ogling yourself, Mitchie. You look great."

"So you say." Mitch flicked a piece of hair out of his line of sight, finally ripping his gaze from the mirror. "Well, whatever. I want some new clothes. Let's get out of here."

Pretending not to notice when Scott eyeballed his tiny frame appreciatively, Mitch led the way from the bathroom to the insides of the store. Different clothes surrounded him every way he turned, some simple and some strange. The was one article that caught his eye; a long-sleeved shirt that was a weird geometric mixture of black and red and white shapes. Squinting, Mitch stood up on his toes to grab at the shirt. His traitor glasses began falling down his face so he had to pause and push them back up _again._ The brunette barely notice Scott standing behind him as he struggled.

"Need help?" The blonde offered, feeling a little guilty as he allowed his short boyfriend to jump up and swat to make up for his height.

Mitch lunged upwards, his fingers grabbing the very bottom of the top. "No, I got it." He grumbled. He cursed not too quietly when his glasses fell off of his face and clattered to the hardwood floor. Not only was it extremely irritating, but now the countertenor's vision was all blurred.

Wordlessly Scott picked up the black frames and easily plucked the shirt from the higher rack. When Mitch stared at him, the baritone wrapped an arm around his waist, kissing him for a moment before handing his favorite brunette the glasses.

"You looked like you needed help." Was his response to Mitch's stone-cold glare.

The countertenor softened at the innocent expression on Scott's face. Smiling against his will, he stood on his tippy-toes and gave him a peck on the cheek as a reward. "Thank you. Wanna see me in this shirt?"

"Yes." Scott answered without missing a beat: not only because he knew that Mitch loved dressing up, but because he loved looking at all the outfits that his boyfriend went through with enthusiasm. Somehow, Mitch had a certain way of pulling off any piece of clothing. It was just something about him.

Or maybe it was the fact that Scott grabbed at any chance to gawk at the attractive brunette. Or something like that, anyway.

A few minutes later, Mitch was standing in front of another reflective glass. He raised an eyebrow and watched as the small man in the mirror copied him. Peeling off his shirt and setting his glasses aside, he picked up the shirt he had toiled so hard to reach and slipped it on. It felt silky and smooth, plus the sleeves were just the right length. The countertenor did a twirl, grinning as his mind pictured his boyfriend's expression once he showed him (and also as his mind pictured how many situations his boyfriend would be taking the shirt _off_ in). Mitch opened the door and walked into the room that Scott was waiting in, leaving his other shirt and his hideous glasses behind.

The blonde was casually lounging on a leather chair, one hand pressed to the side of his head to hold it up as his blue eyes skimmed through tweet after tweet. He heard Mitch's light footsteps and glanced up from the screen of his phone.

"You look amazing!" He said, meaning every word. The fabric flowed and whirled and bent the mind because of its weirdness. Scott found himself staring and blushed once Mitch cleared his throat. When his gaze reached the brunette's dark brown eyes, he realized something was missing. "Where are your glasses?"

Mitch was confused. "I took them off. Aren't they ugly? Oh, and we need to pick up contacts for me while we're out, babe-"

"Mitchie, you are going to back in that changing room and putting your fucking glasses on right the hell now. Can you see anything?"

The countertenor's expression became angry. "Of course I can."

"Really?" Scott could tell when Mitch was lying better than the baritone could sing. He held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Are you shitting me, Scott?"

"Tell me, Mitch. It should be easy."

Mitch narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly and tilting his head to the side. "You're holding up...um..." He looked harder, but it was no use. It all looked like one fuzzy blob of pale skin to Mitch. He had no idea, so he guessed. "Four."

"Wrong." The blonde made a thumbs-down sign that he knew the brunette couldn't see. "Go get your glasses."

The countertenor held back the urge to run over there and pummel the crap out of his boyfriend, instead pivoting on his heel to make his way back to the changing room. While there, he peeked at his reflection, grabbed his other shirt, and plucked his glasses from the seat he had put them on. Sighing, Mitch slipped them onto his face and watched as his sight became crystal clear. He blinked for a moment, allowing his brain to adjust and taking several steps carefully.

An idea was blooming in Scott's mind; within an instance he had whipped out his phone and opened the camera app, discreetly aiming it at the doorway Mitch would reappear in any second. Sure enough, the brunette's figure came forth, looking bookish in his black glasses.

Before his boyfriend could react, the blonde snapped a few pictures. Mitch realized what was going on and ran across the space separating them to lunge at the phone. Usually he wouldn't mind if the blonde took pictures of him; he would most often strike a pose and smile. But Mitch would not accept any photos of him with these damn glasses.

"Give me the phone!" He exclaimed, struggling against Scott's iron grip as he landed in the baritone's lap. They wriggled and squirmed, battling for the device quite loudly. "Give me the phone, Scott!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"You're _lying!_ Delete those pictures or I'll-" Mitch's threat was interrupted by his boyfriend's crazy laughter. The blonde couldn't help it; Mitch was so small and cute in those glasses, and the fact that he was wearing a murderous expression made the whole ordeal even funnier.

"Mitch, stop." Scott said, holding the phone out of the tiny brunette's reach. Mitch fumed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Would you chill it with the glasses? You look great in them. Yeah they're big and yeah you need a thick lens, but they're adorable and I love them on you and you pull them off spectacularly, okay?"

Shyly, Mitch looked at Scott through his eyelashes. The blonde let himself get lost in the brown spiraling orbs, reveling in their unique darkness and how pretty they were. He wasn't jealous, but he was very happy that Mitch was the one chosen to receive such a color. The smaller man's glasses only intensified the potency of his gaze.

Unexpectedly, the countertenor leaned in and planted a firm kiss on the lips in front of him, bringing up a hand to weave his fingers through Scott's hair. The baritone relaxed into the familiar feeling of Mitch's warm mouth that always seemed to taste like peppermint, wrapping an arm around his thin body and securing his other around the brunette's waist.

Just when Scott thought he was going to rip Mitch's new shirt off of him, the brunette pulled away to gasp for air. Scott's eyes skipped down the length of his boyfriend's pale, exposed shoulder to see a bite mark he couldn't recall leaving. His memory always seemed to evade him when he made out with Mitch. Not that he minded.

"I still want contacts..." Mitch murmured, his voice right next to Scott's ear and sending shivers throughout the blonde's body. He curled against the taller man's side, nuzzling the baritone's neck lazily. Scott, who was having a difficult time concentrating (especially when Mitch was still sitting on his lap), found himself nodding along. Whatever Mitch was saying, he agreed.

Suddenly, the brunette pulled away and climbed off of his boyfriend with a smirk. "Great. So I can stop wearing the glasses now."

Scott nodded again but caught himself before he could complete the action, realization dawning on him. His head was clearing now that Mitch was farther from him. "Oh my god. You manipulative little bit-"

"Shh. No words." The brunette held a finger to Scott's parted lips, grinning when the blonde kissed it. "Only contacts. Yeah? You'll take me to get them now?"

Sighing in defeat, Scott got out of the chair and stretched. "Sure, Mitchie. Whatever you want."

Mitch laughed and playfully shoved the blonde's arm. "Good. Maybe you'll be rewarded for your effort." He snorted, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Again. "You're lucky you're friends with a nice queen."

"Mmmhmm." Scott hummed, giving Mitch a sideways glance. He was still wearing the geometric shirt. "And you want that shirt?"

"Yes, queen."

Hand in hand, the pair of singers made their way to the cash register. Scott couldn't help it and said, "That outfit plus the glasses looks great on you, but I think _I_ would look better on you."

Mitch giggled at the pick up line. "That you would, babe, that you would. Just wait until we get home."


	5. Do Not Disturb

**Sup, fandom! It took me a little while to write this oneshot, only because it is super-dee-duper LONG! But now it's ready for human consumption. Hopefully.**

 **A brief summary, as the usual: five times in which Scott has observed the guy he's secretly crushing on, and how their relationship develops after he does it for the first, second, third, fourth, and finally fifth time. Besides, he's not staring, and it's not weird. He's just making sure Mitch is healthy and safe, right?**

 **Thank you for your reviews! Read away!**

* * *

Scott Hoying has stared at Mitch Grassi while he slept exactly five times.

* * *

 **One**

"Mitch." Scott said, looking at his best friend with a concerned expression.

The brunette sitting across from him didn't respond. He had his face in his hands and was completely ignoring the hustle and bustle of the Starbucks shop around them. More importantly (and certainly more strange) was the fact that he acted as if the caramel mocha in front of him was nonexistent.

"Mitch." The blonde tried again.

"Mmmm...what..." Came the faint reply. Mitch slowly rubbed at his temples, showing some sign of movement, but nonetheless his eyes remained closed and he didn't answer his best friend OR drink his coffee. It was the coffee part that was really freaking Scott out.

The baritone snapped his fingers once in front of Mitch's slightly tilted head. The countertenor stirred, mumbling incoherently. Annoyed and slightly worried (hella major insanely worried), Scott brought both of his hands together in a loud clap.

This noise wasn't actually that loud, but it sounded like a tuba was being blown in the brunette's ear. He started, the weird blackness of semi-unconsciousness flitting away for a few seconds. Mitch gave his friend an exhausted look.

"What, Scott?"

"You're not going to drink your coffee?"

Mitch gave the delicious drink an uneasy glance. Drinking coffee would insert several shots of caffeine into his veins, and then not only would he be tired, but he'd be unable to go to sleep because he'd be too hyper.

"No..." His voice sounded monotone. Scott examined the bags that were under his friend's eyes; they were more prominent than usual today. That was bad.

"Mitch, try to stay awake. You've been half-asleep all morning." The blonde carefully removed Mitch's head from his hands (shocked at how much he was leaning on his arms, as if he was really nodding off), and cradled the brunette's wrists.

Mitch grumbled. "Why can't I sleep?"

"We're in Starbucks." Scott replied, letting go of the countertenor's wrists with one hand and gesturing around the cafe. "You can't just fall asleep in a place like this, Mitchie."

"Why?" He whined, pulling his hands away from the blonde. Scott watched as his dark brown eyes clouded and saddened. The view made Scott's heart clench.

The baritone let out a soundless sigh, and picked up Mitch's drink. He stood up and walked over to the trash, leaving his best friend for a second and thinking about throwing it away. He paused, seeing a pretty young woman enter from the cold outside. She rubbed her hand and puffed on them, hiding her curved lips behind her scarf. Scott walked over to her and held out the steaming drink.

"Here. You look like you need this." Scott said, feeling when the heat left his hand as the woman gingerly took the cup. She grinned at him, her blue eyes like the sky.

"Thanks, cutie." She leaned down into the mocha and breathed deeply. "I don't just need this, I really, _really_ need this." Noticing the drooping Mitch, she bit her glossed lip to conceal another smile. "Looks like your boyfriend is falling asleep on you. Are you that boring?"

Scott was taken aback. "H-He's not my boyfriend. And I don't think he's feeling so great." He turned on his heel to leave. "Have a good day, ma'am."

"You too!" The woman called, swishing out the door with her prize.

It took Scott about ten seconds to reach the table, where Mitch was visibly losing the grip on his head and letting it slide down his arms, before jolting to a form of awareness and dragging it up once more. Scott let the process repeat several times before he clapped his hands again.

"Scott..." Mitch blinked and forced himself to stay in the present. At the moment, he didn't really understand where he was or what was going on. His brain was slowing, slowing, slowing down down down to the point of near-zero comprehension. He could only make out the startling blue of his best friend's eyes. "Where...what's going..."

Scott stared at Mitch. The countertenor had to be alright, he had to be, because if he wasn't then they couldn't audition for _The Sing Off_ tomorrow. And if they couldn't audition tomorrow, they'd never have a chance to go big.

"We're in Starbucks, Mitchie. It's Thursday. We're auditioning tomorrow." Scott reminded him, speaking slowly and carefully.

The brunette's head began sliding down his arms again. "Hmm...audition for...what..." All of a sudden, Mitch's forehead slammed against the table he was leaning heavily on, pain appearing out of no where. He gasped at the sharpness of the ache and the coldness of the surface, quickly removing his skin from the piece of furniture. His awareness was spiked, if only for a moment.

Scott didn't know if he should feel bad or glad, now that Mitch was kinda-conscious, but he mostly felt bad. "Let's go home."

"Yeah." Mitch shook his head, bringing a hand up to cover the throbbing of his temples. "Yeah, we should go home. I'm too tired."

"No kidding." The baritone assisted his friend when the smaller man tried to stand up. Mitch was steady, but Scott slung an arm across his shoulder just to be safe. "Can you make it to the car?"

The brunette sent Scott raised eyebrows. He yawned in the following instance, spoiling the iciness of his expression and causing the blonde to lift an eyebrow in return.

"Why are you so bone tired?" Scott asked as the chilly morning air curled and snapped in front of the pair. Mitch shuddered at the cold and pressed closer to the blonde's side. In response, a hand rubbed his arm to warm him up.

"I was up late last night." Five more steps and then they would reach the car.

"Doing what?" Four...three now...

"You know, writing, practicing, stuff like that." Two...one...

"I didn't hear you." None. Scott let go of Mitch and held the door of the backseat open for him. When the countertenor gave him a funny look, he rolled his eyes and gestured to the large empty space. "The seats are long enough for you to sleep on. I'll drive to the apartment."

Mitch smiled faintly and hugged his best friend. Scott gripped him tightly, stealing a moment to breathe in the scent of coffee and sweetness and cologne and _Mitch._ The brunette's smell clouded the baritone's mind briefly, and then retreated as they pulled apart. Mitch wasted no time and eagerly climbed into the back seat. Scott, slightly dizzy, shut the door behind him and got into the drivers seat.

It took the smaller man a grand total of two minutes to fall asleep. Scott checked on him periodically (Mitch slept like the dead these days, if he did sleep) and drove the car and thought. He couldn't turn on the radio, which would have offered a nice distraction. Instead he listened to the endless loop of songs that were always stuck in his head.

Ten minutes later, Scott stopped the car in the parking lot of the apartment complex. He twisted in his seat and unbuckled the seat belt, reaching out a hand to shake his friend awake.

The blonde froze. Mitch had curled up into a tiny ball, his cheek smooshed against the seat in an unflattering way. His dark hair was sticking up on one side, and his face was content and devoid of any emotion. Scott stared without feeling shame creep up on him. His best friend was sorta cute. Sure, Mitch had purple bags under his eyes, and yeah, he looked cramped and scrunched up, but the flawed view made him look like less of a perfect singer and more human. More relatable.

Scott watched Mitch, losing himself in his thoughts about the small brunette. The two of them stayed like that until Kirstie called the blonde to ask where the hell they both were.

* * *

 **Two**

"What should we do first?" Scott said enthusiastically, a spark and a crackle away from letting his built up energy explode.

Holding his hand was his much less energetic best friend. Mitch grinned, happy that the blonde was in such a good mood, yet a frown threatened to take over his expression as he did so. The had just come back from their second-to-last performance on _The Sing Off,_ and not only did the countertenor want to rest his voice, he wanted to rest. Period.

"Sleep, maybe?" The brunette offered, casting a wistful glance in the direction of his bedroom. Soft pillows and warm blankets and dreamless slumber. That sounded good.

Scott locked the apartment door behind them, twirling the keys around and around his fingers and listening to the way they jangled. "Sleep? C'mon, let's go out tonight! Let's have fun and take a break. We did amazing today." He bumped Mitch's shoulder. "Especially you."

"Because I'm boring trash, I'm going to say no." Mitch removed his coat, ignoring the urge to preen at the compliment. Seeing the blonde's disappointed puppy eyes, he grinned and shook his head. "Not tonight, babe. I'm tired."

The baritone blinked, a little surprised at the nickname but liking it nonetheless. "Well, since I'm your _babe,_ why don't you take me for a night out?"

"Nice try." Mitch stretched like a cat, lifting his arms above his head and letting his knotted muscles unravel. "I'm going to bed early. You have fun with Kirstie and Avi and Kevin."

The blonde caught his best friend's arm before he could get away. "Are you sure you don't wanna come? Please? It won't be the same without you."

"Of course it won't be. A party is nothing if it doesn't have a queen." Mitch took Scott's hand and slowly dragged him toward his bedroom. Biting his lip, he peeked at the handsome baritone from beneath his eyelashes. "You could stay with me if you want."

Scott honestly considered it. Spending the entire night with Mitch was a great idea; they'd watch movies and relax and lay next to each other on the couch and practice singing and they'd talk for hours and hours. The prospect made the blonde's heart feel fuzzy. He felt something shaking, and glanced down: it was his own hands. This is when Scott sighed and gave Mitch an apologetic look. He had energy, so so so much energy, and if he stayed home he'd be bouncing off the walls and feeling bottled-up. He couldn't calm down even if he wanted to.

"Sorry, Mitchie. I need to get out of the apartment for a while." Scott's fingers drew patterns on the back of Mitch's hand before he let go. The brunette tried not to look wounded as his hand fell to his side. "Avi was telling me about a bar that opened up a few blocks away, so we were going to check it out after we finished being awesome." The blonde gave a small, sorry smile.

The countertenor wasn't finished. He really didn't like the prospect of not only being alone in the apartment, but it being dark as well. "Stay until I fall asleep. The apartment feels empty at night." It wasn't a request; it was an order from the queen herself.

Scott bit his lip, because who was he to disobey? "Okay."

The next hour and a half was indeed interesting: Scott cooked a tiny dinner (he put some refrigerated ramen in the microwave and called it food. Mitch laughed for a good five minutes afterwards) and they watched a few episodes of SpongeBob. It was all in all a nice time. However, mid-way through the next sponge-y showing, Scott glanced over from his spot on the couch to see the small brunette almost falling off of the side of the cushions, he was so out of it.

 _The performance must have drained him._ The baritone thought. He reached out a hand and shook Mitch's shoulder. His best friend stirred, cracking open a single eye.

"What?"

"You're falling asleep. Which means bed unless you want your back to feel all tight when you wake up."

Mitch slowly drug himself up as Scott aimed the remote at the TV and shut it down. Abruptly, the living room went black. The brunette blinked at the darkness and said quietly, "Are you leaving now, Scott?"

The blonde started to nod before he realized that Mitch couldn't see him. This gave him the opportunity to change his answer, and he gratefully did so. "Not yet. I said I'd stay until you fell asleep, right?"

The pair shuffled around until Mitch flicked on a light switch and illuminated the space (also revealing a very awkwardly-positioned Scott, who was bent a weird way in trying to avoid the coffee table blind). The brunette grinned despite how tired he was feeling. Even when he didn't mean to the blonde always cheered him up. Mitch waved a hand, and they made their way to his bedroom.

Almost immediently the small countertenor climbed into the soft sheets, only bothering to remove his shoes but remaining fully clothed otherwise. Swiftly, he punched his pillow into a comfortable shape, got under the covers, and cinched his frame into a tight ball. He watched as Scott turned off the light.

As if it was the most normal thing in the world, Scott gently laid next to his best friend and made sure his weight didn't disrupt the brunette's tiny form. He kicked back for a moment, listening as Mitch's breathing went from slightly faster than normal to so slow the baritone actually checked to make sure his other half was still alive. Yup, he was still breathing.

In his examination, Scott's fingers skimmed the countertenor's arm, surprised at how warm it felt. His skin was pale in the moonlight seeping in though the blinds, casting shadows across his soft features. The blonde blinked and let out a soft sigh, allowing his thumb to lightly trace the bags under Mitch's closed eyes. He had the overwhelming urge to hug the brunette, but refrained because that was strange plus he'd wake Mitch up and he didn't want to do that.

 _This is the second time you've creepily stared at your best friend while he slept, Hoying. You are officially a freaker._

Scott rolled his eyes, slowly picking himself up from the bed. When he did so he felt an undercurrent of sharp energy crackle beneath his skin, reminding his brain why he had to leave in the first place. Without making a sound, the baritone cautiously closed Mitch's bedroom door behind him after exiting the room, and grabbed his jacket from where he had thrown it on the love seat. Time for him to party until he forgot his own name.

* * *

 **Three**

Mitch leaned over the bathtub and vomited. The brunette's stomach flipped and danced in a way that it was not supposed to dance. Mitch tried not to throw up again, but it was no use: his body wanted to expel all of the alcohol he had drunken, and he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Scott was standing right behind him, holding a dense roll of paper towels and attempting to be as comforting as he could be when his best friend was violently sick. The countertenor's hand reached blindly, and the blonde ripped off a towel to hand to him.

Mitch wiped his mouth messily, not daring to inhale for fear of what the rancid smell would do to him. He stood up as straight as he could while his body shook and put his hands on his knees, gasping for air. Everything tasted like bile.

"Water?" The small brunette croaked, sending Scott a pleading look.

It seemed that almost instantly a glass was shoved into Mitch's hand. He sipped it, swished it around his mouth, and then spit the same time a harsh cough rattled its way through his bones. He didn't know that he would get _this_ ill.

Tonight, the countertenor had decided to go to the bar that Scott had told him about, the one a few blocks down that had been open for about a month or so now. This was not Mitch's first time going there, and he wished to be alone, so Scott let him leave and had sat on the couch for five hours listening to music and waiting for him to come home. When the brunette finally returned, he was dizzy and his skin carried a shade tinted green with a light sweat. Mitch had drunk a little too much and was now paying the price for it.

It was very, very difficult for Scott to watch Mitch in the current state he was in. Anything that affected his best friend's well-being always put the blonde on edge. However, what was puzzling him was why the brunette would over-drink; usually he had his head screwed on tightly enough to know his tiny body could only take a certain amount of toxins. So why was tonight different?

"You wanna tell me why you're throwing up everywhere?" Scott asked carefully, eyeing Mitch with more than a little concern.

The brunette tried his best not to glare. "I am not t-throwing up _everywhere_ -" A wave of nausea hit him, and he gagged above the tub. His body was shuddering with such force that his speech was transformed into a bout of stutters. "-I'm throwing u-u-up in the t-t-tub, so ch-chill your shit."

"Fine. You're throwing up in the tub. Why?"

Mitch coughed and retched unattractively. He would be beet red with embarrassment if his face didn't resemble the pale white of a ghost; Scott had seen him when he was pretty messed up but never like this. The performance probably wasn't winning him any points with the handsome blonde. "T-T-Too much t-to dr-drink."

"Duh. Just because we won _The Sing Off_ a couple months ago doesn't mean you can have as much alcohol as you want, Mitch. I know you're smarter than that." The baritone rubbed soothing circles on the small of the brunette's back. Mitch relaxed into the gesture and almost hummed at the comforting warmth. God, if he was thinking like that, he must be really out of his fucking element. "Tell me, Mitch. You know you can."

Mitch wrapped his arms around his chest, letting his knees collapse under his weight and slide down to the cold floor. Not only was his spine hurting less now, the tub was nearby if he had to hurl. Judging by his stomach's displeased flipping, the countertenor could guarantee that it would happen soon enough. Scott followed him to the bathroom tile, his blue eyes caring, curious, and worried.

Feeling weirdly high (it was most likely the alcohol still in his system; even if it was being expelled, that didn't mean it was all gone yet), Mitch smiled and lifted a hand to touch Scott's cheek, tracing a line down his strong jaw with a single finger. The blonde was unresponsive, though his heart was moving so quickly he thought it would leap out of his throat.

"You care for me too much." The brunette mused, tapping Scott's chin twice before dropping his hand to hold his upset abdomen. "Ugh, you should just leave me here. I look really ugly and gross and I don't want you to see me like this, babe."

"Too bad." Scott said, slightly shocked at the bravery of his best friend's actions. Shaking it off (please, girl, there were more important things to deal with at the moment than his uncon-freaking-trollable feelings), he sent the tinier man a grin of his own. "You're stuck with me forever, bitch."

"Hell." Mitch rubbed his eyes tiredly. "How did I make _that_ happen?"

 _Easy. You were yourself. I took care of the rest._ The blonde thought almost bitterly. It's not that he hated having a crush on Mitch; he felt the exact opposite way about the fact. But it made everything so so so complicated. Realizing that he was daunting on what he had told himself he wouldn't daunt on, Scott instead focused on the task at hand.

Squinting at Mitch, whose head was starting to droop and whose face was beginning to turn green, the baritone said, "You need to sleep this off. It's the only way you'll feel better."

The brunette shook his head and pouted childishly. "Nooo...I'll get an awful-ass hangover in the morning."

"Too bad, Mitchie. You gotta do what you gotta do." Scott heaved himself up from the floor. Once he was upright he held out a hand for Mitch to take. The smaller man looked upwards blearily. "C'mon. Bed."

Mitch shook his head and patted the cold, cold floor. "No. I wanna stay on the floor. It's cold and makes my headache go away."

The blonde sighed and nodded. "Okay. Sleep in the bathroom tonight. At least you'll be by the tub if you have to throw up again." Scott lifted an eyebrow. "Pillow and blanket?"

"Yes." The countertenor was already starting to close his eyes and lean towards the tile. Scott nearly smiled, leaving the bathroom to go throughout the house to Mitch's room and grab a few pillows and the softest blanket he could find. When he returned, he learned that Mitch had lost the battle with his stomach and had vomited again, and also learned that he probably shouldn't have grabbed such nice bedroom pieces because they were most likely going to get drenched in suspicious bodily fluids. Ah, well. Mitch would kill him in the morning, but so what?

"Here, put this under your head." Scott offered one of the pillows to his ill best friend, who took it gladly along with the warm blanket. Mitch's brown eyes, rich with the pain that always arrived with sickness, closed after a few more minutes of nauseous groaning and a couple more dry heaves. The baritone sat next to him the entire time, keeping both of his eyes on the entire ordeal, fighting sleep and generally wishing that Mitch didn't feel as crappy as he was letting on.

Scott stayed up for one hour and a half more, making sure that Mitch stayed in a comfortable position and praying that the brunette didn't throw up again. Nothing but nothing happened. In his head Scott counted number three once his brain had gotten so clouded with images of the sleeping countertenor, with his dark lashes thick and long, that his eyes had to strain against the temptation to shut.

Two minutes passed. Scott memorized the shape of Mitch's dark eyebrows, how they curved and slanted. He fought his heavy eyes. Another five minutes went by. The blonde could describe the unnatural green tinge that was layered underneath Mitch's skin. Sixty more seconds. He had to stay up as long as possible to watch over his friend. Scott begged his eyes not to close.

Ten milliseconds passed until they finally did.

* * *

 **Four**

"We're on a tour bus." Scott sang, pointing his phone at the inside of the long bus to Vine the experience. "It's a tour bus."

"Scott-"

"A tour bus." The blonde twirled, continuing to film. He paused the video for a moment, and gestured for his four other friends to get in said tour bus. The bus itself was long, brown, and very very very cool-looking. Scott couldn't wait to get inside. After all, how many people got to ride on a tour bus in their lifetimes? Not many. This was something special.

"Mitchie, c'mon, this is awesome!" Scott leaped up to the door, easily hopping up the three short steps and casting an interested glance at the driver's seat. He quickly moved on to the middle of the structure, admiring the tan leather seats, the mini kitchen, the overall homey feel the space had to it. Forget living in an apartment; the blonde should just buy a tour bus and share it with Mitch.

"Wait up, Scott-"

"It's a tour bus!" The baritone sang louder, pressing the record button on his phone to resume Vining. "A tour bus. We're on a tour bus." He bent his head, avoiding the short ceiling. He'd have to get used to that soon enough.

"Ohmygod, those steps are high!" Mitch had also climbed onto the bus and was standing right behind Scott. He had no trouble standing up straight. The blonde smiled at his counterpart. "You're having fun, yeah?" In response the baritone grabbed his hand and led him down the hall. There were small beds with straight white sheets and thin pillows stacked on top of each other in the tiny hall, six total. It was going to be a tight fit for the blonde, but he'd manage.

"THIS IS AMAZING." Avi exclaimed from the front. Scott heard Kirstie agree with a spark in her tone.

"They are so _slow._ " Scott laced his fingers with Mitch's. The brunette grinned happily and blushed an attractive petal pink. "Let's go on an adventure! IN A TOUR BUS!" The blonde tugged at his best friend, wanting to explore. Oh, his phone, he almost forgot; he pulled it out and pressed play.

"Scott?" The countertenor behind him said.

"Yeah, Mitch?" Scott turned around to look at him.

"We're on a tour bus." Mitch would've done a spin if there was room, instead settling for the view of the goofy, excited smile that spread across the blonde's face. Now that Pentatonix was on tour, on a tour _bus_ specifically, it made everything seem so solid and so real. They had made it. This was it. They were famous and people loved them and they were good enough to be going on TOUR, for crying out loud. One of the moments that Mitch, Scott, and Kirstin had been pining after for as long as the trio could remember. And now here they were, following their dream along with two newer friends of theirs.

Scott continued his short mantra, adding a drawl combined with a buzzing sound at the end. "A tour bus. A tour bus. We're on a tour bus."

"Those are the beds?" Kevin had caught up to them, also crouching down slightly so he could walk. The beat boxer was casting the sheets inquisitive looks, half-curious and half-wary. "They're kinda small."

"It'll be like camping." Scott said, raising a single eyebrow at the vocal percussionist. "We'll fit." Feeling an idea coming on, the baritone leaned close to Mitch's ear and whispered something. The brunette giggled lightly before slapping his arm. Scott pulled away, pleased.

Kevin wouldn't ever get how Scott and Mitch communicated like they did, or how they remained so happy and driven all the time, but he knew that part of it was because the pair always stuck together. It was the same reason K.O. himself was close with Avi; they not only lived together, they spent more than three quarters of their days at each other's side. No wonder why Mitch and Scott's relationship in general was shockingly stable, as most people's weren't.

"Kevin?" The blonde snapped his fingers in front of Kevin's face, effectively startling him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"No." Kevin pointed one hand at Scott, matter-of-fact. "I'm K.O."

Avi arrived in that instance, hefting a large blue travel bag over his shoulder with no problem. "Seriously, Kev?" He asked teasingly, surveying the space. The tiny hall was actually quite cramped now, what with four men trying to fit into it. Mitch had Scott's hand in a vice grip to make sure he wouldn't lose him, since the short brunette was being squashed against the side of one of the beds painfully.

"Ow." Mitch whimpered. Kevin heard, turned around, realized that he was the person blocking the countertenor from moving, and apologetically stepped out of the way. This forced him to step in Avi's foot, who returned the action by hitting the beat boxer's shoulder.

Scott pulled his best friend into safer waters. Which meant the baritone's side. "Where's Kirstie?"

"In front, talking to Esther." Avi grunted as Kevin smiled sheepishly. "Something about how 'this is the greatest moment of her life and she can't wait to start tour'. But she also said she wants to talk to you guys in a few minutes, once we get rolling."

"That sounds like her." The blonde nodded, not resisting the grin beginning to pull across his face. "Wanna join us in exploring?"

Avi shook his head, cracking the top of Kevin's head as gently as possible. "Nah, Kevin and I have to work on the audience participation. We still have a lot more to do."

Scott led his brunette away from the beat boxer's sputtered protests, instead choosing to show himself plus Mitch around the tour bus.

"It's a tour bus...we're on a tour bus!"

For the next few hours, the pair wandered the long bus and slowly eased themselves into the strange environment. They checked out the small bathroom (Mitch winced once he saw it, thinking of the amount of toiletries he had brought with him) and wondered how the five of them were going to share it; they explored the kitchen and talked to Kirstie excitedly (actually, the trio were squealing so loudly that Avi thought that there were mice on the bus); finally the three invited the other two to join the conversation and moved to a more secluded section (aka the group of five could sit down without majorly hurting each other) beginning to talk of music.

Mitch, whom had become tired due to the events of the day, drooped on one of the longer seats and rested his head against Scott's knee. The blonde reached and ran his fingers through the brunette's soft hair, suppressing his desire to ask the tiny countertenor to put his head on his lap. That was just weird.

Kevin was animated in his seat, his knee bouncing in his attempts to contain his excitement. "Avi had this great idea about the participation! He..."

The baritone let Kevin's voice become a distant hum as his mind left the present time for the millionth time this week. He started to daydream as his gaze locked on Mitch's closed eyes, picturing them open, sparkling, deep. Scott bit his lip as he petted the countertenor, feeling a peculiar heat gather beneath his fingertips as he did so. Alarmed but trying not to show it, the blonde glanced down: Mitch's skin had bypassed pink, his cheeks a flaming tomato red.

Scott blinked. Experimentally he ran his fingers along the brunette's scalp, getting to watch as the action made Mitch shiver a little and flush even darker if such a thing was possible.

The baritone felt a sort of evilness wash over him. Because he now knew of the power he could dangle over the countertenor's head, playing the satisfied cat as Mitch was mouse and danced a dangerous dance through his swiping paws. Soon (pathetically quickly, really) the slyness melted, replaced with a sort of hope. Did this mean that Mitch liked him back?

Oh god, was Scott in the fourth shitting grade? Yeah, okay, Mitch blushed when the blonde touch him...but so what? That could mean anything. Perhaps Scott should stop pining on the sidelines and just ask him out on a date or something. If he got his heart crushed, then so be it. He'd rather that be the case than sit around and never do anything about anything ever.

"What do you think, Scott?" Kirstie's voice broke through the baritone's inner turmoil. He mentally shook his head, still distracted.

"What do I think about what?"

"New method of participation that you were debating earlier." Mitch murmured from next to him. "Clapping and stuff. Yeah?"

Scott sighed, staring at Mitch's unmoving figure (he was most likely already nodding off) again. It was decided. He'd ask the brunette to go on one date. That was it. Then maybe his feelings would pack up and get the hell out of his head.

"Yeah. Because WE'RE ON A TOUR BUS!"

* * *

 **Five**

"That's not funny." Mitch protested from underneath Scott, shuddering when the blonde traced a warm hand down his pale abdomen. The baritone on top of him smirked and resumed pondering over how hard one was to bite in order to leave a mark. When his nose got close to the countertenor's skin, his mouthwatering scent curled around Scott's face.

"You smell really good." He mused, kissing the brunette's mouth in order to shut him up for a few more seconds. God, Mitch was attractive, but he was way more attractive when his mouth was busy doing something other than talking or singing.

Mitch lifted a hand to hold Scott's cheek, flicking his tongue across the taller man's lower lip. The gesture riled up the blonde and made his blood rush and burn in a pleasant way. The brunette smiled into their kissing once he noticed what effect he was having on Scott. It was too good.

"I smell like a big steak." Mitch said, his hands getting tangled in blonde waves.

Scott abruptly pulled away to press his face into the smaller man's shoulder. Mitch giggled as the baritone inhaled.

"You're right. You do smell like a steak." He confirmed, grinning widely when the countertenor hit him. "In fact, you smell so good that I'm going to have to eat you up."

"That's sweet." Mitch's tone was steady despite the fact that his body was practically on fire. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, babe."

Scott responded by connecting their lips again, reveling in the moment and happy that the person he was making out with was the one he'd wanted for years and now Scott finally finally finally had him. Victory was amazing. Kirstie had actually stopped in the middle of a rehearsal the second she found out the pair were together, torn between screaming her ass off at them for not telling her sooner or screaming her ass off at them in congratulations. She had settled on a mixture of both.

Kirsten knew that Scott had been crushing on Mitch for a while, and how he had watched the brunette sleep a few times (she pointed out this was rather creepy, and the baritone did not hesitate to agree with her). The mezzo absolutely freaked out when Scott told her he was planning to ask Mitch on a date. She had helped choose his outfit for the occasion.

The small countertenor gripped Scott's shirt, slowly sinking into the covers of the bed and desperately wanting the man on top of him.

"You're gonna be tired tomorrow, Scott."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to make you work very, very _hard_ tonight."

At his boyfriend's suggestive words, the blonde gave a wicked smirk, sneakily slipped his hand towards the waist of Mitch's belted pants, and rolled them over.

Later, once the pair had worn themselves out (though that wasn't a bad thing entirely), Mitch was curled up in Scott's arms, his chin tucked neatly against the baritone's collarbone. Running his fingers up the brunette's arm, he told himself that this was it, this was the last time he was going to stare at his counterpart as he slept. Scott peeked at Mitch from underneath his eyelashes.

As always, the brunette looked peaceful and completely perfect; his hair ruffled, soft breaths escaping his parted lips, eyelids that held the lightest tint of purple. Scott peered closer, seeing that there was a certain thing different about his boyfriend's face tonight.

Tonight Mitch was normal, yes. But below the surface the countertenor seemed to glow, even in his sleep. Not just a note or two of peace decorating his eyebrows or nose, but also a rebelling splash of fierce belonging etched into his expression. The changed view gave Scott a strange satisfaction. He pressed his lips to Mitch's head gently, trying to turn his own face to see the time of night.

The bedside clock read 11:32. The pair had to be at the recording studio by seven the next morning, and the place was an hour away. Which meant Scott needed to hit the hay as well.

Scott smiled faintly. The last thing he saw before his eyes shut to open the next morning was the moon, filtering its light through the blinds and illuminating Mitch's relaxed features. At the moment, he couldn't have been happier.


	6. Drunken Love

**Wassup, readers! Apologies for the late oneshot; this one was a little difficult for me to plow through (also, I'm writing like three other Oneshots at the same time I'm writing this one...very complicated). But here it is!**

 **The quick summary: Scott comes home one night really, really wasted. And it's just Mitch's luck that Scott really, really wants to have sex with him while really, really wasted. Boy/boy love towards the end, although this is an overall boy/boy oneshot.**

 **( UPDATE: If you're re-reading, don't be alarmed if this oneshot seems different than before...that's because it is! I've got back and edited it a bit to improve its quality. I hope you guys enjoy the updated ****oneshot!)**

 **Thank you for your reviews! Happy reading!**

* * *

"You're _really_ bad at flirting." Mitch said laughingly. He lifted up a hand to put on Scott's chest and gently pushed the blonde back a slight bit, because while the taller man was _this_ drunk he had no idea what personal space was.

Scott bit his lip as his blue pupils traveled up and down Mitch's body without shame. The small brunette resisted the urge to squirm under his searching eyes. Were people whom were inebriated supposed to gaze so intensely? "Maybe I didn't wanna flirt." His already low voice dropped an octave as he leaned downwards to slur, "Maybe I just wanted to get into your _pants_."

"Scotland, you're drunk and you don't know what you're saying." Mitch said, trying not to feel flustered while he glanced around the room for his phone. Where had he left the damn thing? He needed to call Kirstie right now and ask her what the hell to do. She was the only one out of the five of them whom had ever seen their friend under this much influence; whenever they went out Scott tended to control his alcohol intake, perhaps coming home tipsy, but never _this_ hammered. Something was up.

Finally Mitch caught sight of his phone and quickly walked over to get it. Scott couldn't keep up with him, yet he tried as best he could, giggling every time he lost his balance or tripped over his own feet. If they were both sober, Mitch might've laughed at his clumsiness, but the urge to was dispelled by the knowledge that his best friend was not only _absolutely and utterly wasted_ -he was utterly wasted and hitting on the countertenor.

Tonight was going to be such _fun_.

Mitch had to tap a single number on the keypad to call his other friend (she was on speed dial). He waited impatiently as the phone rang and jumped almost a foot in the air when he felt Scott's arms wrap around his midsection. The man with brown eyes didn't try to break his grasp, as it was easily predicable who would win that battle. Mitch felt his neck become hypersensitive when Scott bent his head to rest his face against the brunette's shoulder.

Finally, she picked up. A bleary-sounding female voice came through the iPhone. " _Hello?_ "

"Thank God, Kirstie, you answered...why do you sound so tired?" Mitch leaned away from Scott's mouth as he started humming into his skin. "I thought you would be up rehearsing with Avi."

" _We finished early. Mitch, it's like eleven at night, why are you calling?_ "

"Someone's cranky." Mitch slapped at Scott's fingers (they were attempting to draw slow circles on the countertenor's waist, but he was having none of that shit). The blonde pouted, his features transforming into something that resembled the duck face. The brunette held back a laugh. Oh, there was going to be _so_ much blackmail material in the morning.

" _We have another rehearsal tommorow at like seven and I wanted to get some sleep._ " There was a thumping noise followed by a click on the other end of the phone. " _And again, why are you calling me?_ "

Scott perked up as if he'd just realized his friend was on the phone, and grinned at the device. "Holy crap, is Kirstie on the phone? Tell her I say hi! And tell her she's really pretty when she wears that dark purple lipstick with the brown eyeshadow." Before Mitch could stop him he leaned over and kissed the smaller man on the side of his head. "But you look sexier with no makeup on, Mitch."

Nothing but static on the other end of the phone for a moment. Then, " _Was that Scott? Did Scott just say that?_ "

If Mitch's cheeks weren't already pink, they were now tomato red. "Yeah. That's what I was calling about. He's more drunk than I've ever seen him before-"

"And I want Mitch more than ever before." Scott proclaimed happily like the entire world needed to know. Mitch had a strange urge to shut up Scott to prevent him from telling anyone else about what was happening right now. This was literally _the worst thing_ that had happened to the two of them.

Well, maybe not worse than that one time where that kid had thrown up and he had slipped and then that shower had been so cold and he'd had to walk around for hours stinking of...alright, fine, this wasn't the worst thing, but it was still pretty bad in Mitch's opinion.

" _Oh. My. God. He must be really drunk._ "

"No shit, girlfriend." Mitch said with a snap in his tone. "I need your help because I have literally no idea what to do-"

"Sleep with me?" Scott suggested, fingers drawn back to the countertenor's waist. Mitch sent him an ice-cold glare that was greatly softened when it finally came in contact with the handsome blonde.

"Stop cutting me off." Mitch ordered. Scott giggled while he nodded his agreement. "Anyway, I don't know what to do because you're the only one who's ever seen him...this wasted."

" _Mitch, I'm really sorry, but there's nothing I can do. There's nothing_ anyone _can do. When Scott was like this last time, he got what he wanted because he wouldn't let it go. Back then, he wanted me to help with Pentatonix and become a singer when I was still so unsure about everything..._ " Kirstie drifted off, probably letting her memories drift to the past. " _So here I am. He was unstoppable. And now he's not gonna stop until you do whatever you need to do to get him off you._ "

The thin brunette was two seconds away from slapping Scott with his phone, marching over to Kirstie's house, and slapping _her_ with his phone. Why, in his eleven years of friendship with them, had they never told him about this? Didn't they think it was kind of important?

Mitch's jaw locked as he said, "I'm not letting him fuck me, Kirstie."

Scott almost melted into Mitch once he heard that. "God, that would be nice." He nuzzled the brunette's neck, his body a weird mixture of hungry and content.

Kirstie could clearly sense the tangible awkwardness her sober friend felt. " _I'm...hanging up now. Tell me how it went in the morning. Good luck, queen._ "

"No, no, Kirstie, wait!" She wasn't going to leave him all alone, was she? He checked the screen of his phone. But it was too late. She had already hung up.

Scott smiled and murmured lowly, "Y'know, sleeping with me isn't such a bad thing."

"Yes it is."

"Why? You'll feel really good, I _promise._ " The blonde purred into Mitch's ear, effectively making the short countertenor give a subconscious shudder. Chills raced across his spine. "Tell me why it's such a bad thing. Give me three reasons." Scott kissed the pale throat that was just begging to be kissed and started his own trail of them on Mitch's skin.

The brunette's mind abruptly blanked, and he had to swallow several times before he could force out the words he wanted to say. "Y-You're drunk and don't know what you're doing, for starters-ah!" Mitch gasped as he felt the blonde bite down hard, the action setting his wound-up nerves on fire. "S-S-Stop, Scott!"

"I don't know...after a few more minutes you won't want me to stop, so why should I now?" Scott continued to press his mouth onto that sweet skin. Why couldn't he push him away? Why was he letting the blonde do this? _Because..._ "Your voice sounds really sexy when you gasp like that." The taller man's hands were wandering up Mitch's shirt. His gaze was locked on the mark he had left on the brunette's pale skin, intent on making it darker and more prominent. "Second reason."

"U-U-Um." Was all Mitch could say, slowly becoming high off of the feeling of the baritone's fingertips trailing patterns underneath his shirt. _Because it feels good._ His grip on his phone tightened. Were iPhone's made to be used as weapons? If Mitch swung solidly enough, maybe he could knock out his delirious best friend.

As quickly as the thought flitted into his brain, Mitch had kicked it out. Yeah, this was awkward as fuck, but he would rather do...things...with the blonde than hit him so hard he lost Scott to an abrupt sleep.

Scott tugged at the top Mitch wore which was a loose silk long-sleeve the color of burnt leaves. The corner of his lip curled into a suggestive smirk. "You should take off your shirt."

Immediately, the small countertenor sensed self consciousness weighing his shoulders, the notion like a giant bucket of water dumped on his head. He was not sleeping with Scott, so therefore he was not taking off his shirt. Nope. He squirmed until Scott let him go (it took a minute, but he finally did) and reached to set his phone on the coffee table. The baritone was watching him again (more like checking him out). Mitch rolled his eyes, forcing his scrambled mind to think of a plan for the rest of the night; dinner, as the brunette was getting hungry, the gathering of Tylenol for the horrendous headache Scott was bound to have in the morning, and an entire evening spent on the couch so he could keep an eye on the crazy man with blue eyes.

"Reason number two: I don't like you like that, Scott." The countertenor took his best friend's hand, focused on dragging them both upstairs and changing into more comfortable clothes.

"You're holding my hand. Which means you like me." The blonde cocked his head to the side, refusing to move as Mitch yanked at him, the motion useless. Devilishly, Scott smiled a not-too-friendly smile. He wagged his eyebrows, and Mitch couldn't stop a laugh from escaping him. "I'm not moving until you give me a kiss."

"I am not kissing you, Scott. Move. I don't want to stay in these tight-ass jeans all night."

"Then let me take them off."

"Thanks. I can do it myself, babe. Can we please go to my room so I can change and you can too?"

"Kiss me."

"Did you not hear a word I just shitting said? No!"

"Kiss me or I'm not moving."

"Scott, I swear-"

"I can stay here all night, Mitchie. The choice is yours."

Mitch fumed silently. Stubborn asshole. Even when he was drunk out of his mind, Scott could still hold a decent argument. The gears in the brunette's brain turned, searching for a way to win. It's not that he didn't _want_ to kiss the attractive baritone, it was the fact that he knew Scott would ask him about what happened the night before in the morning if he himself couldn't remember, and Mitch would have to tell him. The pair never lied to each other, and the next day would be no exception.

"So, if I kiss you, you'll move?"

"Yes." The blonde was already swaying towards the countertenor as the words exited his mouth.

The countertenor paused. "Okay then." He slowly made his way towards his friend, then Mitch stood on his tippy-toes and kissed Scott on the cheek, his lips lightly ghosting the skin and retreating after only a millisecond. "Reason number three: you can't even recognize when I'm fucking with you and I've found a loophole. If you can't even do that, we shouldn't be doing the actual fucking, hunty."

The blonde looked shocked for an instant before vigorously shaking his head. "That's not fair!" He exclaimed as he finally allowed the smaller man to drag him a few steps forward towards the stairs.

Mitch blinked innocently, tugging Scott up several steps. "I don't know what you're talking about. You said if I kissed you then you would move, so I did."

The baritone scoffed, stumbling slightly and clutching Mitch's hand tighter for support. Aware he might be, but balanced he was not. Fucking alcohol making his head dizzy. "I meant on the lips!"

"Should've been more specific, then."

Scott had apparently forgotten how to trudge up a stairwell, so instead of replying the countertenor helped his best friend and assured he wouldn't fall over or crack his head open on the wall. It took two entire minutes (it felt like two hours to Mitch, who was carrying nearly all of the blonde's weight-not an easy feat. He comforted himself with the fact that he was never going to have to do it again. Maybe.) for them to reach the top of the stairs. The smaller man puffed, trying not to let his strain show, listening to the baritone's faint giggles and random comments.

"What are stairs made of?"

"Wood, babe. Just wood."

"Ooooooooooohhhhhhh." Scott said thoughtfully. "But then there would be no trees left in the world because there're so many stairs."

Mitch spotted his bedroom door and walked to it with the unbalanced blonde trailing behind him. He sighed and pivoted on his heel with a patient expression, pointing to an area on the ground right in front of the door. Scott watched him as closely as one could while smashed. The brunette prayed that this entire night would be over with already.

"Stand in front of the door. Do not move. I'm going to go change, and then I'm going to help you change because I'm pretty sure you'd try to put your shirt on upside-down or some shit." Mitch walked into his room, commenting offhandedly, "Stop staring at my ass."

The blonde, he found out after spinning on his heel, was flushing a light pink with desire. The countertenor fought down his own blush as his best friend simply said, "You just look good."

"Yeah." Mitch dismissed the compliment as one born of lust rather than actual appreciation. "Sure. Now I'm changing. Stay."

With that, he smiled and slammed the door in Scott's face.

"Hey!" The baritone protested from the other side. Mitch ignored him, his dark brown eyes already searching for the entrance to his closet. He found the tiny space immediately and stripped, throwing his original clothes in the dirty laundry bin (god, those pants really had been tight), selecting his new ones and laying them out. Wearing short shorts around a drunk Scott who wanted to have sex with him probably wasn't a smart idea...but...

Boredom creeping up on him, said drunk best friend leaned against the door, humming loudly. His gaze was fuzzy around the edges and the room had a dangerous tilt to it and yet he was feeling the best he had in a long time. Powerful and brave. And really really really turned on, Mitch the reason.

Though, he had the notion that he was like that when he wasn't smashed; being hammered gave him an excuse to be more open about it.

Wait...what?

Suddenly, Scott heard the door he was resting on give way behind him. He yelped as he fell backwards, grabbing at air in an effort to save himself. In the following second he collided with a person who was tiny and warm that made a screeching noise, sending them both to the ground.

"Scott, get off of me!" Mitch squeaked, air forcing itself out of his lungs due to the enormous pressure on his chest. The baritone instinctively twisted, causing the smaller brunette to roll on the floor with him. This process ensued for the next five minutes, a cross between a playful wrestling match and a desperate fight for oxygen. Mitch eventually ended up beneath the massive blonde, Scott sitting on him and grinning mischievously.

"Don't you dare tickle me, Hoying. I will hurt you." Mitch threatened, noticing the glint in his best friend's eyes. The weight on top of him felt good and comforting, a strange familiarness woven into the bizarre situation. He blushed again.

The blonde on top of him smirked, sensing revenge. He let more of his weight rest on the thin brunette; enough to hold Mitch in place but not enough to crush him.

"You should've kissed me before, Mitchie." Scott murmured, his gaze locking on the countertenor's lips. Mitch's head spun like he too was drunk, making him unable to think or process anything properly. "Now I'll have to punish you."

Scott leaned close so that their lips touched. Fireworks exploded inside of the brunette, want bursting through him with a force he had not expected. He gripped Scott's hair and resisted the urge to yank him even closer so that ever single inch of the blonde's solid body was pressed against his tinier frame.

Gently, the baritone slid his tongue across Mitch's bottom lip, asking a silent question. The brunette answered positively, opening his mouth and letting Scott explore the sweet cavern. A peppermint flavor swirled between them that elicited a moan from the excited baritone. As their tongues battled for dominance, Scott's hands began to wander up Mitch's shirt, his fingertips eager to tease the soft skin there.

The countertenor's breath caught in his throat when Scott attempted to lift up his new top, which was even looser than his original one. Self-consciousness tried to overtake Mitch, who was so used to it that he didn't try to fight back. "I...um..."

"What?" Scott asked, his lips hovering just above his partner's. He was struggling not to tear the stupid piece of clothing off of the brunette.

Mitch was remembering that he was a sickly pale and too stick thin and that oh, yeah, Scott was really really really super-de-duper drunk right now and if he wasn't drunk then he wouldn't want to make out with Mitch in the first place. Right. He had forgotten. He reached downwards and caught his best friend's hands. "Scott."

"C'mon, Mitchie. I'm _so close_ to making you feel good like I promised." The blonde's nose skimmed the smaller man's jaw. He heard Mitch whistle-sing a few trembling notes. "Let me make you feel good. I can't do that while you're all wrapped up in clothes." His knuckles tapped the brunette's lower abdomen lightly. Scott's eyes were blazing with desire, and he could barely prevent his mouth from watering at the sight of Mitch sweaty and red-faced.

It took a lot of courage, but Mitch squeezed his eyes shut and lessened his grip. The baritone, wasted as he was, saw how much effort that simple move was for Mitch, and kissed him to show he recognized the tough action.

Mitch melted into sensation, feeling his shirt slip over his head and his tight shorts begin to peel off. Scott, though he was trying (and the brunette could tell that he was trying), couldn't help the anticipation and roughness that came with being drunk. His kisses became steadily firmer, and what he wanted became clearer as well. The tiny countertenor lost himself to feeling and love and goodness, letting Scott see a part of him that the blonde had never seen before.

When Mitch woke up the next morning, he realized that he was unnaturally warm. Scott was curled next to him; his bright waves mussed and matted in many different directions, eyes closed, his breathing even and slow. The brunette lay there for a moment, soaking in the morning sun. He didn't want to move. Or disturb the peace.

"Morning, beautiful." A voice whispered. Mitch's heart jumped into his throat. Scott had blinked himself awake. The baritone grimaced and held a hand to his temple. "Why does my head hurt so badly?"

"You were really wasted last night." The countertenor replied in the softest voice that he could, knowing that his high-pitched tone would be screechy and loud inside of Scott's sore head.

Sure enough, the blonde winced and tried to sit up, evading the noise. Yes, a plus of being drunk was having a good time with Mitch. Yes, a minus of being drunk was a pounding, god-awful headache. Mitch bunched the thin (but toasty) sheets around his bare lap and heaved himself up also.

"Want to stay in bed all day? I'll call Kirstie and cancel our parts in rehearsal." The brunette smiled, unsure where the pair stood at the current moment. Scott remembered what went on the night before, right? Did he regret it? "And I'll make breakfast."

Surprisingly, the taller man leaned over and pulled Mitch's faced towards his, connecting their mouths in a short kiss. The countertenor was shocked, pleased, and not ready to complain in the slightest.

"That sounds amazing." Scott replied, kissing Mitch again. God, but that mans lips tasted good. "Can you get me some Advil, too?"

"You got it, babe. Pancakes?" Mitch swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Shit. Do you know where you threw my shirt?"

Though the baritone didn't mind a naked Mitch Grassi cooking him breakfast, he was certain that Mitch Grassi himself would. Since he couldn't recall where he flung the garment the night before, he sought out his own shirt with his hands and handed it to the smaller man. "Here, wear mine."

"Thanks." The brunette tugged on the top (it was tight on Scott, which meant that Mitch was swimming in fabric), exiting the bed in the next instance. As he walked to his bedroom door, he said casually, "Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop staring at my ass."


	7. Superpower

**Hey, everyone! Originally this oneshot was supposed to be really uber short...but it turned out a lot, lot longer than expected, which is why it took me longer to update this time.**

 **Description: Mitch has a superpower he is unaware of, a power that holds together everything when it seems all will fall apart. But what if he wants to change it? And speaking of superpowers, maybe Scott has a certain power of his own.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to Nightling, the nicest reviewer on the planet whom has reviewed for nearly every oneshot so far. Thank you so much for your sweet, motivational words! You're fcute!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

 _Where Are U Now...then Can't Sleep Love...next is Sing._ Scott Hoying ran through the names of all of the songs the quintet were supposed to sing in the best order that he could manage. It was one thing to forget the words to a song, but it was even worse to forget what song you were singing in the first place. With the baritone's luck, he'd screw up the entire performance without say a word. Or saying the wrong words.

Currently, Pentatonix was backstage at a major concert event: the word major was being modest, since there were at least ten bands (not including the group themselves and a few others that hadn't arrived yet) performing that night. It was about ten in the morning now, and the first band was to go on in two hours. Even though the first sound of music would be heard in one hundred and twenty minutes, people had already crowded the outside space and were excitedly talking/yelling/laughing.

Scott was becoming frustrated. His crappy memory was evading him at the legitimate worst time. Scott mentally reached out for titles, memories of performances, _anything_ ; no luck. The blonde squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples, breathing unsteadily. He was not going to panic. He was _not_ going to panic.

"Hey, Scott, do you remember the song we're singing right after _Rose Gold_?" Mitch Grassi asked from his standing position across from his friend. The brunette's bottom lip was bitten into almost nothing due to nerves. "Is it _First Things First_ or _Daft Punk_?"

Again, once a mental search had been conducted, Scott procured nothing. He was now trying not to hyperventilate. He was not going to panic. The baritone wrung his hands and cast Mitch a distressed look.

HE WAS NOT GOING TO PANIC.

"Babe, are you alright?" The countertenor walked forwards, paused to let a bundle of Stage Crew member shuttle by (carrying several misshapen drums and a couple not-so-misshapen microphones), then made his way to Scott's side carefully. The tiny brunette pressed a hand to his arm. "What's wrong?"

The blonde had been containing it all, but the moment his strained blue eyes met Mitch's concerned brown ones, he realized that, ah, shit-

He was going to panic.

"I can't remember anything, Mitch." Scott said in a rush, grabbing the startled shorter man's hands and shaking them vigorously to make his point. "I don't know what order we're going to sing in, when we come on, or what I ate for breakfast."

"You had a bagel." The brunette replied, wide-eyed.

His in-control response floored Scott. "How are you _not freaking out_? Because _I'm freaking out_!" The baritone started to hyperventilate again. With his quickened breathing and racing heart, the black backstage room was beginning to spin unnaturally. Scott swayed on his feet. "I'm literally going to pass out right now!"

"Scott, no no no no no, Scott, look at me." Mitch brought his hands up to cradle his best friend's face delicately. The blonde's fingers locked around one of his wrists. He wasn't going to pass out: he was going to throw up instead.

Mitch stared at him with solid resolution, his tone ringing and confident. "You're not going to faint on me, Christina." He said slowly. Immediately, Scott began to relax. It was easy to relax when he was meeting the gaze of the tiny brunette, whom carried a soothing, calming effect. "You know these songs like the back of your hand. I'm going to let go of you, and you are going to get your shit together, Hoying. Mmmkay?"

Breathing at a normal rate now, the baritone nodded, his anxiety ebbing away. Mitch sighed, removing his hands from Scott's face and smiling a little. Mission accomplished.

"Let's go find Kirstie." The countertenor suggested, taking the taller man's hand and lacing their fingers together. A jolt of adrenaline shot through Scott's heart at the unexpected (but not unpleasant) contact. "Then all three of us can chill and shove snacks down our faces before we perform."

Scott let Mitch lead him through the confusing twists and turns of backstage. Every now and then, his large body would get in the way and he'd have to stop and allow other people to pass him in the rooms and hallways cramped with equipment and performers. The thinner singer slid between guitars and chattering assistants and big-ass speakers with ease. The blonde tried to ignore how many appreciative once-overs his best friend was receiving (by mostly women: this fact did not comfort him in the slightest), and also tried to ignore how Mitch looked at some of the men.

"Our room should be just around this damn corner..." Mitch drawled, tugging Scott along. As they neared the space and said hello to several other singers, the brunette remarked, "God, there are so many hot straight guys here."

The baritone raised an eyebrow, spotting the plain white door marked ' _Pentatonix_ ' in block-like letters. He opened his mouth, but Mitch turned and cut him off before he could speak.

"Don't worry, dearest, my heart belongs only to you." The countertenor trilled teasingly, snuggling against Scott's chest and enjoying the instant warmth. Mitch felt his best friend laugh as the motion made the taller man's body vibrate when the sound rang through him.

"And mine to you, Mitchell Grassi." Scott replied, baiting the brunette. Suddenly (yet as predicted), the smaller man pulled away and smacked his best friend's stomach.

"Ow."

"Don't call me Mitchell, you know I hate it." Mitch scolded him, knowing that he was lying and praying the blonde wouldn't notice. Scott hadn't called him Mitchell in a long time. It was a little strange to hear his name exiting the baritone's lips... _good_ and strange.

A wicked grin spread across Scott's face. Which meant he was plotting something evil. "You're going to regret wounding me like that, _Mitchell._ " In that instance it hit Mitch that oh yeah, um, he was standing right in Scott's arms, and um, oh, yeah, usually the blonde's idea of vengeance revolved around tickling and oh, huh, right, Mitch should probably move like right now.

Like, right now right now.

On cue Scott secured the tinier countertenor in a bear hug and began his rein of demise. Mitch burst into uncontrollable laughter, squirming and wriggling purposefully and twitching and convulsing not-so-purposefully. He laughed so hard that it made his head hurt. The few people walking in the hallway cast the pair weird glances and wondered if the brunette was having a seizure.

"SCOTT YOU BIT-" The baritone dug his fingers into Mitch's side. "HAHAHAHAHA! STOOOOOP! HAHAHAHAHA! I _HATE IT_!" Mitch continued to roar with laughter, torn between going with it or seething with rage. Scott was chuckling himself, not able to resist doing so while his other half lost his mind. This commenced until Mitch felt the blonde loosen his grip slightly and noticed that it was his chance to escape. Gritting his teeth against his giggles, the small brunette slipped beneath Scott's arms, lunging for the doorknob of the Pentatonix dressing room.

"Not fair!" The blue-eyed singer called, feeling cheated but not resisting the large smile that nearly broke his face. Mitch didn't hear him as he was gasping for breath so noisily that the sound drowned out everything else. He smirked and opened the door, tasting resolution.

Instead of receiving the view he expected when the door swung open (which was his three other friends, grinning nervously and rehearsing and talking excitedly amongst themselves), Mitch was presented with quite the sight; Kirstie had tracks of her mascara staining her face in silent tears, a terrible expression on her usually rejuvenated features. She was curled up on one of the loveseats with Avi at her side, his arm slung around her shoulder in a gesture of the best comfort he could provide. Kevin, the final puzzle piece, stood behind the two, looking strangely somber.

Mitch froze, unmoving and staring. All of the playfulness he had been feeling before vanished faster than a blink. Scott, whom was unaware, walked to the countertenor's side and sneaked a hand down to the belted loops of the other singer's pants, preparing to hook his fingers through them and whisper a joke. He noticed Mitch's sudden tenseness immediately.

Confused, the blonde followed Mitch's gaze to their sorrowful best friend. Unlike the brunette Scott gasped audibly and rushed over to her. Avi removed his arm and stood up to give the best friend's room, choosing to stand by Kevin's side and tug at his beard.

"What happened?" Scott asked, his tone screeching worry. The mezzo shook her head, opened her mouth, closed it again, and put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook in a single sob. The baritone gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly, closing his eyes and burying his nose in her sandy, coconut-scented curls. He held her for a minute, and then glared up at the beat boxer and the bass, his eyes sparking dangerously. In his book, if you messed with Kirstin or Mitch, you were messing with him. " _What happened?_ "

Kevin spoke up after wordlessly communicating with Avi. "We were rehearsing because we were waiting for you guys to get here...and she tried to sing..." He stopped, unsure as to whether or not saying what went on would upset his friends further.

Mitch was still standing in the doorway and was still highly concerned (his best friend was not known to cry over nothing: if she was sobbing this hard, something was wrong). Kirstie glanced up from her place at Scott's side, sending him a mental message. It hit the countertenor then. There were only three things that Kirstie would cry over; her parents dying, her friends dying, or...

"She lost her voice." The brunette said. Kirstin nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears pooling in her brown orbs. Cautiously, he worked his way over to the mezzo, sensing more things than a lost voice was amiss. "And...she's really stressed out over this show."

Scott wiped the moisture from Kirstie's reddened cheeks. "Can you sing, Kirstie?"

She sniffed, remaining silent. Her friends would look upon her with so much pity and sympathy, she wouldn't be able to take it. Then they'd croon, comfort her the best they could, hug her and attempt to make her feel better. But that wouldn't bring her voice back. At the moment, it was the thing she wanted most in the world.

"C'mon, girl." Mitch moved as if he was a panther, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning all of his weight on one hip. His stance was cocky and impatient (he was sorry, but he had no time for people who were a mess), yet his expression was neutral and waiting. Kirstin picked up what he put down on the table; _We need to warm you up before deciding what we're going to do._

The mezzo smiled faintly at Scott, who answered in the like, then turned away to focus on Mitch. He was her anchor in this instance, holding her in place and refusing to move no matter what. After sifting through the songs she knew, she ended up going with one of her favorites.

" _Taste the pain right on my tongue,_ " Kirstin sang, her voice sounding nothing like it usually did. It was pitchy, strung-out, and just plain flat.

Scott winced, not able to help himself. She was not in good voice. Definitely not. Mitch ignored the notion, even as he came to the same predicament, and joined her in the next verse.

" _Novocaine to make me numb,_ " The blonde realized what was going on and jumped in. " _Don't you worry 'cause the night is young. Dance until the morning sun!_ "

Though the exercise was meant to test Kirstin's tone, it resolved in her beginning to cry again. Mitch and Scott's voices sounded perfect and blended together beautifully; however, if the mezzo sang with them (or _tried_ to sing, in this case), she added her uniquely horrible tone to the mix. She. Was. Terrible.

"Kirstie-" Kevin patted her shoulder, wearing the pitiful face that the brown-eyed singer hated. This made her angry, and she shook off his touch and stood up.

"I sound awful, Mitch." She said, her voice cracking in about ten different places. "I can't perform tonight."

The countertenor knew the group had toiled so long and so hard for the show they were doing tonight. He wasn't going to let this amazing chance to stand out slip by Pentatonix. Hell to the mother freaking no. His eyebrows formed a crease in the middle of his forehead as he strode forward, staring at his best friend dead in the eye. It hurt him when she allowed a tear or two to fall and leave behind more mascara tracks, but he had to be hard on her. Once the night was over she'd understand.

"Oh, yes you the hell are performing tonight, Kirstie. You can do this. Yeah, you're in bad voice. That doesn't mean that you blow the show." Mitch stepped closer, an attractive pink color rising in his cheeks as is determination followed suit. Scott tried not to stare at the sight. "That means that you are going to work with whatever the fuck you've got. You are going to sing tonight, and you are going to sound _great_. Alright?"

The sandy-haired singer had calmed throughout the speech. She sniffled only one more time, then took a deep breath and pulled herself together. She wasn't letting her friends down. Kirstie gave Mitch a tight hug as her thank-you. Scott, from behind them, also sighed. Mitch had worked his magic. The mezzo was in control.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. The group turned. Standing where Mitch had been not a few minutes ago was one of the people on Stage Crew. He looked to be a manager. Gesturing with his clipboard and holding his headset away from his mouth, he asked, "Are you guys Pentatonix?"

Avi did not point out that the name of the group was printed very clearly on the front of the door, but he wanted to with extreme intensity. "Yeah, that's us."

"You go on in ten minutes. Are you ready?"

Everybody started at the same time, going wide-eyed with shock at the news. Because no, they were _not ready_.

"What?" Scott breathed, checking his watch. The band wasn't supposed to perform for another hour. Or two. Or possibly three...

The Stage Manager said something into his headset, irritated. "Did you forget? You signed up to open the show."

Kevin, Avi, and Kirstie weren't understanding a single word exiting this man's lips. Mitch knew better, instantly staring Scott's way. The blonde had been gushing to him about it several weeks beforehand, saying how they would be the first to perform and how, quote unquote, "great it's going to be for us!" Apparently, the blue-eyed singer had not only forgotten to inform his other friends, but he had just plain forgotten.

"You are all sorts of mixed-up today, Lily." Mitch said to Scott, who was blushing a frustrated (and cute) red. The brunette got to watch as Kirstin's eyes lit up in horror; she had been under the impression that she would have more time. Now that number was reduced to zero. Avi and Kevin wore faces that matched hers.

The Stage Manager gritted his teeth, now truly annoyed. "You all need to follow me to your places. Now you go on in eight minutes." He mumbled something else Scott didn't catch (probably involving a lot of profanity). He waved his hand out of the door. "Now. Let's go."

Wordlessly Mitch sent Scott another condescending glance. The baritone did not shrink under his gaze, instead getting up and leading the way out of the door. The rest of the group reluctantly followed him. Avi and Kevin walked behind the Stage Manager; when the grumpy man wasn't looking, the bass stuck out his tongue at his back. The beat boxer stifled a laugh. This was not funny. Avi's expression was NOT funny.

A few more minutes passed until Pentatonix arrived at the stage entrance. Scott could hear the constant roar of fans beyond the door. His nerves began to creep up on him again, and he felt his mind blank and turn into a clean slate. The blonde snatched Mitch's hand, holding it in a vice-like grip. The fact that the color was was beginning to drain from Kirstie's cheeks wasn't helping calm him down.

The Stage Manager huffed. "Five minutes until show time. Listen up: once a Crew Member signals that it's time for you to go on, you go on. Zero delays. This thing has to start off smoothly, and I won't have a group of kids ruining it." Mitch was highly bothered by this statement and looked as if he was going to tell him off (they weren't _kids_ : even though the countertenor was the youngest of them all at 23, he wasn't a _kid_ ), but Scott forced a smile and politely nodded.

"Thanks. We'll be sure to go on when we're supposed to." He said as nicely as he could. Satisfied, the Stage Manager left them with a mumbled "Good."

Kirstie buried her face in her hands. "I'm doomed. I doomed us." Her voice sounded slightly better, but it was nothing compared to Kevin's clear tone when he responded with a rushed reassurance. It didn't make her feel any better. Nobody was in high spirits at the moment, thanks to the guilty baritone clutching Mitch's hand.

"Sorry, guys. I forgot."

The smaller man next to him sighed, using his thumb to rub gentle patterns onto the back of Scott's hand. "We are going to be great, you guys. We can do this." His voice carried a slight worry to it. However, his cool confidence covered it up as well as frosting coated a cake. In response, Avi, Kevin, strained Kirstin, and Scott visibly relaxed. Scott leaned down to whisper in the cute brunette's ear.

"Do you have a superpower that you haven't told me about? Everyone gets like really chill whenever you give us a pep talk." His breath tickled the insides of Mitch's ear. The countertenor pursed his lips, trying to hide his smile.

"Maybe I do." Only now was he noticing the effect he had on the group. "Or maybe everyone is just stressed the hell out and they need someone to tell them that everything is ok." Mitch scrunched his nose. "But if that's my superpower, I want to change it."

"To what?"

"Something more interesting." Mitch caught sight of a guy he had been ogling at earlier. He was tall, with black hair and bright green eyes. Attractive and mysterious. By the once-overs the other performer was giving a couple girls, he was straight. "Oh, I know! The power to be so pretty I can turn straight men!"

Scott snorted, the noise loud and echoing down the brunette's eardrums. "Good thing you can't swap powers. Then you'd have boys all over you."

"Stop it." Mitch grinned and shoved his best friend a little. "Anyways, it's easy to swap your secret superpower. All you need to do is snap your fingers-" He snapped his fingers three times. "-and say what you want your new power to be. The catch is that you give up your old one." Mitch's voice morphed into something less than a breath. "I want the power to be so pretty I turn straight men!"

Like magic, the guy with green eyes found his gaze being dragged to a small, thin, pretty brunette standing on the opposite side of the room. He made a move to take a step forward and talk to him, but he saw that the attractive man was with the blue-eyed blonde holding his hand. He backed off, but couldn't resist staring.

Men from every direction found themselves watching Mitch. The tiny brunette seemed to carry an irresistible air about him; how could they not look? Once they caught sight of Scott, however, any ideas of wooing dispelled.

The baritone was shocked. "What the-"

"Mitch, oh, god, I sound so bad!" Kirstin immediately started to freak in a manner that was similar to the way Scott had thirty minutes ago. "How are we going to sound okay if I sound terrible?"

"Relax, girl, you'll be fine-" Mitch tried, but was interrupted by the mezzo shaking her head and turning away. He couldn't calm her anymore. Smiling wide and noticing just how many guys were staring at him, the countertenor sent Scott a glance, like, _Ha! Told you so!_

A member of Stage Crew ran up to Avi. She was a younger woman with bright red hair pulled into a ponytail. "Hi. You're Pentatonix, right? My manager says it's time for you guys to go on."

The bass begrudgingly hooked his arm through Kevin's and not allowing his concerned thoughts to arrange themselves onto his features. "Well, you heard her. Let's go."

Scott swiftly tugged Mitch from the gazes of all of the staring guys and towards the stage doors, still mesmerized at the prospect of superpowers. Curious, he asked, "If everybody has a superpower, what's mine?"

Mitch bit his lip, one hand reaching for the silver door handle that was to lead them to hell, the other still captured by the blonde. "I don't know. Being my best friend ever, I guess." The screams of the crowd became louder as the announcer outside proclaimed that 'here comes the one and only...Pentatonix!'

The baritone, right before stepping onto the stage, snapped his fingers three times when Mitch wasn't looking. Quietly, so quietly that the brunette couldn't hear him over the crowd, murmured, "I want the power to seduce Mitch Grassi and still be best friends. Please and thank you."

Suddenly, Mitch pivoted on his heel and gave Scott a kiss on the cheek so soft the blonde barely felt it. The countertenor smirked a little at the surprised expression he received in response.

"You looked like you needed that." He said. As if guided by some unseen force, the tinier man stood on his tippy-ties and kissed closer to the corner of Scott's mouth this time, and the did it once more, achingly close to the blonde's lips. Dizzy, he could hardly process the next words that were said by his best friend. "Enough superpower talk. Now, let's get a move on, yeah?


	8. You're Not Gonna Reach My Telephone

**HEY YOU GUUUUUUYS! This oneshot is a little short, a little crazy, but it's because these next few days I'm going to be working on a really, really long oneshot after this one just for y'all (spoiler alert, the next one is going to be sad. Sorry).**

 **A swift summary: I read somewhere that Mitch had to skip his high school graduation in order to make auditions for _The Sing Off_ , so this is about a short period of time in which he prepares himself to sing _Telephone,_ and is constantly bothered by the ringing of his own cell phone. **

**The lyrics sung are from Lady Gaga and Beyoncé's _Telephone,_ so disclaimer!**

 **Thank you for your favorites and reviews! Happy reading!**

* * *

On the way to auditions, Mitch passed his high school.

The parking lot was overflowing with cars of all shapes and sizes. Once, about two hours ago, they contained eager parents driving their excited kids dressed in gowns to the place. Now they sat empty, waiting to be filled with relieved smiles and content sigh that signaled that four long, hard years had come to a steady close. Maybe the families would stay up all night in celebration, hold big meals and feasts and invite their friends to participate as well. For the current moment, however, everyone was silently waiting for the ceremony to begin.

The countertenor would not join them. He'd never have an actual high school graduation, never be handed his diploma (it was going to arrive in the mail in several days), never hug the rest of his acquaintances goodbye, never shake the principle's hand. Why?

Mitch's phone rang for the thousandth time. And for the nine hundred and eighty-ninth time, he ignored it. He should probably shut it off, because the near-constant noise was getting on his already tightly wound nerves, but he knew that he couldn't. Scott, Kirstin, Kevin, or Avi might be calling to update him while he drove. For the thousandth time, he checked the caller ID.

A random number he didn't recognize. Thank god. A few classmates had dialed him a number of times, pestering him as to why the seventeen-year-old wasn't sitting next to them, laughing and smiling his simple smile. He hung up every time they'd start to ask. Mitch didn't want to be reminded.

Why wasn't he going to his own graduation?

He was skipping it. Skipping his high school graduation in order to audition for _The Sing Off_ , a TV show starring a capella groups from all over. If Pentatonix won, it would be their chance to pursue music and go big. Since he was one-fifth of the group, he was obligated to show up. And audition day just so happened to be on the day he was supposed to finally see the face of freedom.

Mitch sighed unsteadily, turning his car onto the highway and watching as his high school disappeared from view. A half an hour until he met up with the rest of the quintet, three hours until auditions began. His stomach began to flutter with imaginary butterflies as his thoughts also began to flutter, but instead of queasy anticipation, the butterflies flapped with uncertainty and doubt.

What if they weren't good enough?

He tucked the ponderings in the back of his mind for now. Scott alone had enough worry on his shoulders to sink a warship seven times over. When you added the rest of Pentatonix to the mix, you could alter the natural path of the moon with the stress. Fussing wasn't going to do him any good. And anyway, he should use the time by himself to practice in private, maybe yank his brain out of it's hurried spiral.

Just as the brunette reached for the radio to bring it to life, his phone rang. Again. Mitch checked the ID (as he had for about one thousand and one times), expecting his mom or another classmate. To his surprise, his best friend's number blinked up at him. Not knowing if he should feel concerned or curious, Mitch picked up his phone and pressed answer.

"Scott?"

" _Mitch._ " The blonde on the other end breathed in relief. " _Hi._ "

"Hi." The countertenor grinned despite his slightly brooding mood. "What's up?"

" _Nothing. Kirstie and I are practicing and we're taking a break for now._ "

Mitch didn't wish to upset the talented baritone, but his own uneasiness was beginning to creep up on him as he realized he had yet to warm up. "Then why are you calling me?"

There was a pause. The slight brunette was about to take back the words that had escaped with unintended harshness. Scott beat him to it. " _I just...I miss you_." His best friend sighed quietly before his next words spilled from his mouth softly, probably so Kirstin wouldn't hear. " _I'm really, really nervous._ "

The sudden vulnerability almost forced Mitch to slam on the break. He didn't (he came damn close, though) and only slowed down, earning him a couple honks and a few fingers. Scowling at his actions, the small teen sped up, wishing that the feeling in his stomach would _go the hell away_. Scott had expressed to him that he was stressed, worried, or felt like giving up. Never really nervous. If _Scott_ was nervous, then this was serious.

"Don't be." Mitch said softly. "We're going to do great. You've got Kirstie, Avi, Kevin, and me. And I'm queen. Queen's always win, don't they?"

" _Cleopatra was murdered, right?_ " Scott asked teasingly, the sadder tone seeping out of his voice at his friend's playful reassurance.

"Yeah. But that's because she wanted to kill everybody and marry her husband's brother or some shit." The brunette sniffed distastefully. "I mean, unless you have a hot brother that you're not telling me about..."

" _There is no hot brother I haven't told you about._ "

"Well, then, I'm not in any danger of being murdered. So Queen Mitch always wins." Mitch giggled, watching as the highway signs flew past him at different, erratic speeds. He checked the digital clock found in his car. "Oh! I'm almost there. Fifteen to twenty minutes, mmmkay? No need to be afraid. Mitchie is coming."

" _Hurry, please. I really want to talk to you in person. And the five of us need to practice, like badly._ " Scott hesitated. Two seconds later the line went dead. Mitch held his phone away from his ear to make sure, then set the tiny device down on the seat next to him.

The countertenor's thoughts started to pool into the base of his mind, most revolving around the graduation he was absent to. They wouldn't understand his distress; sure, Kirstie and Scott dropped out of collage a couple weeks beforehand, but that wasn't the same thing. This was _high school_. There was no second graduation. You got it once. And Mitch was missing it. Missing the look on his mom's face when her young son hugged her, wearing his crooked hat and not-crooked grin. The few teachers he liked. His drama director. The feeling of accomplishment, the _experience_ , the thrill.

Mitch blinked as his eyes fogged. He was not going to cry over something so petty and stupid. He would still get his diploma, right? Plus, if he made auditions, his mom would make them all pasta and cake and smile an even bigger smile and it would feel amazing. Winning a spot on _The Sing Off_ was worth it.

It was worth it.

Despite trying to convince himself, Mitch's morale did not increase. He was too depressed for a pep talk, and without Scott or Kirstie with him to cheer him, he was alone with his mind and his mind was not pleased. He reached to turn on the radio once more before his PHONE RANG AGAIN.

 _BEEEEEEEEEEP!_

"Shit, why does everyone want me so desperately today? _You should've made some plans with me when you knew that I was free. I'm sorry but I cannot hear you I'm kinda busy!_ " Mitch sang, warming up his voice. " _I'm kinda busy...I'm kinda busy..._ " He checked the ID: it was another random number. Why was it, on the day he was busy, people decided it was the right time to call him?

Gripping the steering wheel, Mitch sang loudly, " _Stop calling, stop calling, I don't wanna talk anymore!_ "

He belted his part to the song for ten solid minutes, allowing his brain to stray from his troubles and get lost in sound. Mitch only stopped when he recognized that he was about to pass his exit. Trying not to swerve the car too badly he turned the steering wheel and barely made it. After a few more green lights shone in his eyes, Mitch took a final turn before realizing that he had arrived at his destination faster than he originally thought. Almost robotically, he steered his car into a parking spot (there were so very few of them), parked, and unbuckled his seat belt. Mitch didn't get out of his vehicle right away, though, and chose to instead press both of his hands to his temples in an effort to calm himself.

 _Ok, Grassi._ He thought, taking a deep breath. _This is it. Your one shot. You can miss graduating. You can't miss this, queen. Ok?_

Mitch swallowed down more butterflies.

 _Ok. Let's do this._

Just before he made his dramatic exit, the countertenor's phone rang. Scowling, he snatched it, heaved himself from his small car, and slammed the door shut.

* * *

The first thing that Scott did once Mitch entered the room was to almost tackle him in a hug. The brunette couldn't prepare for the extreme weight and heat that was about to be thrown at him, so instead of catching the blonde in an embrace, he nearly fell over.

"Ah!" Mitch squeaked, crushed in his best friend's strong grip with his face smooshed against a shirt that smelled strongly of said best friend. The mixture was comforting; the usual blend of cherries, mint, and Old Spice deodorant. Strange it was, but it was the only thing that was firmiliar at the moment, so the smaller man would take it.

"Hi Mitch." Scott murmured happily from several tall inches above the brunette's head.

"Can't breathe!" Was the response he received. Laughing, the blonde let go of Mitch, acting offended when he gasped for air like he'd been deprived of it for hours. "You were suffocating me!"

"I missed you." Scott replied, innocence lacing his tone as he watched Mitch continue to choke and splutter. "How was I not supposed to hug you?" He leaned closer to his friend so that their noses were inches apart. "I really, really missed you. Kirstie is kinda freaking out, and I needed backup. That's why I called."

Mitch blinked slowly, trying not to become distracted and fighting the blush that was spreading across his cheeks due to Scott's closeness. The blue in the taller man's eyes was reeling him in. "Th-That's what I f-figured."

"Oh. Cool. You'll help, then?" The blonde smirked, gesturing behind him to where the other three-fifths of Pentatonix were sitting together on a red couch, twisting their fingers together and crossing their ankles nervously. "Avi and Kevin are losing it a little bit too."

"Y-Y-Yeah. Of course."

 _BEEEEEEEP!_

The countertenor looked down at his hand to see his phone vibrating. A-fucking-gain. The number was one he _did_ recognize vaguely, though, it was one of his classmates Dave. Nevertheless, Mitch made an angry expression and vigorously pushed the _Decline Call_ button.

"WHY?" He said, shaking the poor phone like a whipped cream canister. "Why won't people stop calling me?"

Scott reached for Mitch's phone, prying it from his best friend's frustrated grip. "Whoa, Mitch. Calm it."

The tiny brunette let out an irritated huff. "People have been calling me _all day_ , and no matter what they won't stop. It's because of graduation."

The blonde in front of him tilted his head to the side, a thought hitting him just now. As his striking eyes flashed with guilt, he asked, "You're ok, right? About missing the ceremony?"

Glancing around Scott, Mitch took in the sight; his three friends, worried and anxious, waiting to show their shit in order to bargain for a big break. If it was the ceremony or here, he'd choose here at auditions with his fellow singers in a heartbeat. And honestly, how could Mitch act sullen with the blonde making that face?

Giggling lightly, Mitch nodded. "I'm good. It's just graduation. I'll get my diploma in the mail. It's not a huge deal."

"It is a huge deal." The baritone protested, taking both of the brunette's thin hands in his own. Mitch felt his cheeks burn.

"No, it's not."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Fine." Scott relented, smiling widely. The corners of Mitch's mouth began to tilt upwards without his consent. "But we'll throw a party for you later." He tapped the countertenor's nose.

"Fine." Mitch repeated, rolling his eyes fondly. "For now though, we gotta slay these bitches."

"Like, queen slay?" The blonde asked in return. The pair walked to where the rest of their friends awaited. Kirstin's eyes lit up when she noticed her other best friend was there.

"Hey, Mitch!"

"Yes, we will queen slay, Scott. Hey, Kirstie, girl!" Mitch assured and then greeted. Kevin and Avi soon joined into the conversation, eager to stop thinking about the impending audition. Pentatonix even got a rehearsal of _Telephone_ in for good measure. It went by with only a few bumps in the road that were swiftly addressed, fixed, and then sung over.

Any moment now, the group could be called into the auditions room, which was a tan door twenty feet away. Scott stood tall, ready to give final words of reprise.

"Alright. I think we're ready, you guys. We are going to get in there-" He pointed to the door with meaning. "-and we are going to be amazing. Kevin, watch the part where you and Kirstie sing together. Avi, remember to hum a high then low note after the chorus. And Mitch-"

 _BEEEEEEEEEP!_

"THIS DAMN TELEPHONE!"


	9. Losing Then Winning

**Hiya, my readers! I'm sorry this oneshot is a little later than my usual week, but it was a longer one, and as always I'm writing more than one oneshot at once (say that three times fast), so the stuff I actually tend to publish takes a little while to get out there.**

 **Alright, the summary: Everyone seems to like Scomiche. Except for Alex. So he breaks up with Scott, who winds up turning to his best friend in the universe for comfort. And maybe something a little bit more.**

 **Thank you for your reviews! Read away!**

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Alex said through gritted teeth, all but shoving the laptop into his boyfriend's hands. Scott barely had a second to throw his phone aside and balance the fragile device on his fingertips. He held in a breath, then let it out once he saw his iPhone had made it to the couch cushions safely. One point Hoying, zero breakable screen.

The blonde blinked as his eyes painfully retracted at the sudden brightness and winced when he noticed just how loud the laptop's volume was. He didn't cast it a glance; instead he stared at his distraught boyfriend, whom was breathing in a scarily controlled way and did not seem pleased.

"What the hell is what?" Scott asked, squinting at the screen.

"That!" Alex pointed to the video currently paused. The baritone studied the frozen image. It was of him and his best friend Mitch, smiling wildly at the camera and clearly having a great time at the club they were at. Both of their cheeks were flushed a light pink, both of their eyes were dazed but excited, and both of them were covered in a sheen of sweat. Obviously they had posed for the pic right after dancing their hearts out on some random table.

Scott was confused. He didn't see what the dirty blonde fuming next to him was getting so worked up over. "What about it? It's just a picture."

Alex rolled his eyes. "It's not the picture I'm upset over, Scott. It's the video."

Feeling puzzled again, the baritone assessed the laptop once more. As his eyes skimmed the screen, he realized that the website was YouTube, and the video Alex had pulled up was titled _Scomiche._ Apparently a fan had decided to make a video (or two, or three, Scott found out as he looked at the list of other Scomiche projects that were recommended to be watched) that solely focused on their OTP. The blonde with striking blue eyes tentatively flicked his gaze back to Alex, whom had crossed his arms and adopted a frown.

"Press play." He ordered. Scott, a little frightened to defy his boyfriend while he was like this, did not hesitate and quickly moved the mouse and clicked it over the play button.

For the next few minutes, the twin blonde's watched the second half of the fan video, as Alex had already seen the beginning. It was composed of shorter videos, Vines, Snapchat photos, and other small films of Scott and Mitch together. To an outsider, they clearly looked as if they were dating.

" _You look super cute today._ " The Scott on the screen remarked, gesturing to the brunette's thick black glasses.

" _Thanks, babe._ " The Mitch in the video smiled, flicking a piece of hair out of his eyes.

A hand firmly pressed the pause button. The baritone glanced up at his boyfriend.

"You let him call you _babe_?" Alex demanded, his expression close to a sneer. His hazel eyes (though they were not as green as Avi's) widened as he pointed to the screen disbelievingly. "Are you _cuddling_ him?"

Scott viewed the sight before him; another picture, black-and-white this time. The tall blonde was wearing a dreamy, content smile with his eyes closed. He was leaning heavily onto Mitch, nearly nuzzling the brunette. Mitch, thank the lord, wore a disinterested facial expression. Scott couldn't remember taking this one...he must've been drunk. After all, he'd never snuggle Mitch while he was sober.

Okay...that was a lie.

Scott snuggled Mitch all the time.

What? Mitch was _warm._

"I can't believe this." Alex leaned down (the baritone thought he had a slim chance of receiving a forgiving kiss, but no dice) and shut the computer with a sharp _crack_ sound.

"Alex." Scott could see that his boyfriend was close to throwing a major bitch fit, if the nasty glint in his gaze was any indicator. "Mitch is my best friend, and _that's it_."

The dirty blonde shook his head. "That's not what it looks like! It looks like you two are screwing around behind my back!"

The blue-eyed man's face hardened to stone, and he set his laptop aside and stood up. This is the point in which Alex realized that yes, he was being a little dramatic, and yes, he had just crossed a line, but fuck it. He knew, through all of these years, Scott was in love with Mitch: all he would talk about is _Mitch_ , if they went anywhere Scott always wanted to bring _Mitch_ , and now see here, they were cuddling and tweeting flirty tweets behind his back (Alex had scrolled through his boyfriends Twitter to confirm his suspicions, and boy, was he given a crapton of evidence).

"I would never betray you like that." Scott said coldly, highly offended that Alex would assume such a thing. The baritone would admit that his faithfulness had wavered sometimes, especially after a fight had risen between Alex and himself, yet he never slept with, touched, or even _stared at_ another man during the time they were cooling down.

 _Mitch._ Scott's brain reminded him, which proved his last thought false, since he did stare at the small brunette and hug him a lot. But they were best friends! He could do that!

Alex's anger did not waver. Maybe he could read his boyfriend's mind. "You love Mitch."

Scott would not lie. "I do love him. Like a friend." No matter what, he would not claim he didn't love Mitch. The pair had gone through too much together for the blonde to deny that fact. He reached out a hand to link his fingers with the man across from him, who was only an inch or two shorter. "Not like how I feel for you. That's different."

"Really? Different?" Alex arched a sandy-colored brow. "Who do love more, then?"

"What?" Surely Scott had misheard. Alex wasn't asking him the question that would ruin everything and could cause several people's worlds to explode. No he wasn't.

"Who do you love more?" Alex was pulling his hand away now, not wanting to feel the clammy grip of Scott's palms. On a different day, he might've found the weird temperature endearing, a special quirk of his boyfriend. Now it was unusual and strangely uncomfortable.

"I...love both of you equally."

"Don't give me that shit answer, Hoying." The blonde with hazel eyes spat. "Tell me. Who? Me or Mitch?"

Scott held his breath, torn between feeling very pissed or very hurt or very very lost. He knew that for him, there was no right answer to that question. Someone else might think that he was an idiot for not proclaiming his love for his boyfriend at the start of an argument as a reassurance, and then also assuring said boyfriend that in no way shape or form did he love his best friend more.

But _thirteen years_ he had known Mitch Grassi. And somewhere within those thirteen years the bond the friends carried became as unbreakable as bulletproof glass. A few years later, somebody had come along (maybe it was Scott) and tempered with the glass, morphed it into something softer but just as strong. Mitch meant a lot to him.

The blonde's ADD mind zoomed into fast forward, shoving more data into his face in the blink of an eye. How long had he known Alex for? Five years? A little less, most likely. Scott cared for Alex deeply; the blonde with kind hazel eyes had rented a flat inside of Scott's heart and had been there for quite some time. Yet there were things unsaid between them, vain that broiled and simmered over, like this display of sudden distrust.

"Hello? Scott?" Alex was irritated, and waved a hand in his boyfriend's face. "Answer me!" He knew it was cruel to make the singer choose but he had to know.

"I don't know, okay? I don't know!" Scott exploded. He threw his arms in the air in a gesture that procliamed he didn't understand.

The dirty blonde's eyes widened as a concept he hadn't thought of before dawned on him. "Do you even love me?"

In that moment, everything in the room froze. The pair of men stopped breathing, stopped moving, didn't blink. The sun was still. The air unmoving.

In that moment things began falling apart.

Alex's eyes started to gather tears as the silence presented him with his answer. "Well, then." He choked, watching when Scott's face transformed from brittle to panicked. "I should go." Nodding frantically, he moved around the room and gathered his phone. The baritone stared at him in shock. Only when Alex was halfway to the door did Scott react and grab his arm.

"Let go of me, Scott." The blonde hissed, hurt flashing in front of his pupils. The baritone had no trouble distinguishing the double meaning behind the words.

"Alex, please don't go, I'm sorry, it's just-"

"It's just what? What exactly is it?"

"I don't know what love is!" Scott yelled. This caused his boyfriend (whom in the next thirty seconds may not be his boyfriend any longer) to pause. He continued, his phrases strung together and rushed. "I don't know what being in love, _actual_ love, more than a crush, feels like. Yeah, I care for you. So much. Give me time and I might love you. But it'll take a while. For me falling in love doesn't happen overnight or within the span of five seconds, okay?" He took in a deep breath and held it, giving a pleading look. "Please, Alex."

The hazel-eyed blonde stared for a minute, before shaking his head and ripping his arm from Scott's slick grasp.

"I gave you parts of me I hadn't given anyone else. Ever." Alex said. His voice cracked, threatening to break into sobs. "I trusted you. I went to all of your concerts, all your gigs, I put up with your crazy Mitch obsession. I held you when you were upset and I consoled you when you were down. And now you tell me you don't love me."

"I never said that-"

"We had something special, Scott." Alex cut him off abruptly, reaching for the handle of the front door. "It was _love_. And if you couldn't see that, then I don't want to be with you anymore." He began to walk out the door, making it all of seven steps until he was stopped, again by Scott, who had followed him desperately.

"Don't do this, Alex. Not over that stupid video. Not over Mitch. Not over the fact that I still don't know how I feel about loving you. Don't. Don't do this." The taller man's stunning blue eyes distracted Alex as they always did. The sorrow filling them was almost enough to force him to take the blonde's face in his hands and kiss the sadness away.

Almost.

With a heart that was beginning to turn to stone, Alex gave his past lover a final glance and then said, "It's already been done." He pivoted on his heel so that he wouldn't catch a glimpse of the expression on Scott's face and nearly ran to his car. Yanking the door open and pulling himself in, he shouted his last words and let them hang in the air.

"Have fun with Mitch, you bastard!"

Then he drove out of Scott's life, leaving the singer stunned and confused on the sidewalk.

* * *

"Scott."

The blonde didn't move and instead stayed in his curled up position on the couch. A high-pitched tone resonated in his brain. He chose to ignore it for the time being.

"Babe, why are you on the couch?" Keys were set down on the coffee table that say in front of the baritone, accompanied by the soft taps of combat boots hitting the floor as somebody removed them. There was quiet for a second, nothing save the sound of two people breathing, before Scott fully realized whom had been calling for his attention and his eyes flew open.

"Mitch?" He asked, blinking rapidly and trying to restore his blurry vision. Light feet scuffled closer. After his sight cleared, the baritone could finally make out the concerned expression on his best friend's face. "What time is it?"

The brunette leaned down and briefly clicked his phone. His face was not only concerned, but many degrees of exhausted. The baritone immediately felt bad for stressing him out. "Nine at night. How long have you been there for?" He hoisted his bag on his sharp shoulder and began to walk towards his bedroom to set it down. "Are you hungry? You want dinner?"

Scott considered this. He was about to say no (Mitch didn't need to work so hard this time of night) when his stomach growled loudly at the same time Mitch re-entered the room. The countertenor pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. The other singer had the decency to look sheepish.

"Let's get pizza." They said together. Mitch flashed Scott a smile, and then picked up his phone and dialed the number of their favorite pizza place. While his best friend talked with eccentric though muted animation, Scott allowed his mind to sift and stray from any thoughts of his ex.

Mitch wore his usual attire; skinny jeans, a random top (today it was a deep navy blue sweater that hugged his small frame), and his slightly heeled combat boots sat next to the coffee table. The laces had been untied and were draped across the soles. The countertenor's face was paler than usual, and the light purple bags that constantly hung under his brown eyes were darker today. Still, even if he seemed a little rumpled, Mitch always looked good.

The blonde didn't notice that he was staring until said person who looked good cleared his throat. Scott's eyes jumped from contemplating Mitch's jawline to his eyebrows, which had raised again.

"Tell me what's up." Mitch demanded, setting his phone aside and plopping himself on the couch next to his best friend. He knew that Scott never moped about something that wasn't super important. This had better be good (and not like that one time in which his best friend whined for an hour straight that he wasn't ever going to move unless Mitch got him coffee. Lazy-ass).

Scott grinned at the regal expression he was being given. In response, he opened his arms and gestured for Mitch to come closer. "C'mere."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Mitch crawled across the taller man's body until he could lay down next to him. During this process their legs became tangled, Scott's arm ended up wound securely around the tiny brunette's waist so he wouldn't fall off the cramped space, and the two were effectively smooshed in their normal position.

One of Mitch's hands rested over Scott's heart, feeling it beat steady, strong, and swift. The blonde tried to ignore the heat radiating from Mitch, and how it made him want to snuggle closer. If that was humanly possible.

"Tell me." Mitch said softly.

Scott blew out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding onto. "Alex broke up with me."

The small brunette didn't say anything for a moment. He granted Scott's silent wish and pressed his body against the baritone's, using his available hand to reach down and grasp the other man's. Lightly he linked their fingers in a tight way and stared into Scott's eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Boys are awful." Mitch blinked slowly, the rhythm of his best friends breathing quietly lulling him. He was strangely relaxed. "Can I ask why?"

"He...um..." Scott's words balked. He was only now noticing that he was cuddling with the man that was partly the reason his relationship status was single. "He went on his laptop and found a video on YouTube."

"Mmhmm." The brunette hummed, nudging the story forward when Scott stopped to take a deep breath.

"And...uh...the video was about you and me."

"What about us?"

"It was about the shipping of Scomiche. A fan made it, and put it up, and to somebody who doesn't really know is it looked like we were dating. And we aren't. And we both know that and so did Alex." Here Mitch raised another eyebrow. The pair of singers were beginning to wobble on weirdly shaky ground. "S-So he asked me if we were doing stuff behind his back and he didn't believe me and then he asked me if I loved you and I said yes like a friend but I like Alex different so he said like how different and who do I love more you or him and I said both of you equal then he started yelling and then I started yelling and then he walked out and drove away and left."

Scott paused once more to gather more air. "I'd been hanging out on the couch ever since he left."

The countertenor in his arms was frozen and contemplating. Biting his pink lip, Mitch shifted uneasily and began pulling out of his position. Scott caught his arm, though he didn't clutch it like he had clutched his ex-boyfriends, and pulled him back down. Mitch did not fight the tug.

"Where are you going? Is it something I said? Mitch, I'm sorry, please forgive me-"

A single warm finger was placed on top of Scott's protesting mouth. The tinier man was rolling his eyes again, but in a fond, unirritated fashion.

"The pizza is here. Didn't you hear the doorbell ring?" Mitch smirked a little and got up. "Don't worry, babe. I'll never leave you." He walked to the door and extracted the pizza. Two minutes later, after the brunette had had a one-sided flirty conversation with the young, cute delivery guy and had crumpled up the guys number and thrown it in the garbage, Mitch set the steaming dough on the coffee table once certain items were removed from the premise (aka Scott's Beyoncé book).

It took only two more minutes for both singers to curl up on the couch and shove gooey pizza in their mouths as they watched _That 70's Show_ reruns. Three episodes passed before any words were uttered.

"Thanks, Mitch."

Mitch tilted his head and covered his mouth, which was occupied chewing greasy, delicious cheese. "For what?"

"For making me feel better and being a good friend. Alex was being-"

"An asshole." The countertenor offered, taking another careful but big bite. "A dickhead. A little slimy bitch. A jealous-"

" _Thank you very much, Mitch._ " Slight sadness was punching a hole in the baritone's heart at the thought of his past lover. He missed him, even if he had been a right jerk when he left. "You're really descriptive with the names, you know that?"

"I do know that, actually." Scott relaxed into Mitch's usual sass. "I'm real with people."

"I like that about you."

"Stop." Mitch smiled, his brown eyes sparking prettily. "You're too kind, babe."

Another episode passed by.

"You said Alex asked you who you loved more, me or him."

Oh no. "Yes."

"Who?"

Scott wouldn't lie. "You."

Quiet for the next seconds. The TV still played, but Scott payed it no mind. Mitch turned his head and said, "Good. I love you too."

The baritone stared, looked away with his cheeks burning, and ate his pizza. Yeah, Alex was an ass, but not as a big of one as Mitch was. At least Alex didn't make his bones all numb and his mind go blank. Really, if those were the circumstances and Mitch said things like that, how was Scott supposed to resist?

The blonde glanced at the countertenor, who was also looking at him.

Maybe he didn't want to.


	10. Waiting At The Airport

**Hey, everyone! Here's your new oneshot! I had another, much much longer one I was planning to publish, but a portion of it is in French (spoiler alert) and it's several thousand words, so it's taking me some time to crank through. But it'll be the next oneshot posted for sure.**

 **The summary; a short space of time in which Mitch Grassi finds himself stuck at an airport, bored out of his mind and trying not too go crazy (or puke) at the thought of getting on yet another plane. It's a good thing his boyfriend is there to distract him, or else the tiny brunette might just throw his phone across the room and begin to tear his hair out. Nobody needs to see that.**

 **The lyrics below are from Lady Gaga's _Do What You Want,_ so disclaimer.**

 **Read away!**

* * *

Mitch leaned his head on Scott's shoulder, watching with idle eyes as the blonde scrolled through Twitter. Avi and Kevin sat across from them with the beat boxer's phone between the pair and a single ear bud in each of their ears as they listened to music together. The only girl of the group, Kirstin, was sitting on her knees and reading. She tilted her head to the side, licked her lips, then carefully turned a page.

The countertenor sighed, though wasn't heard over the constant annoying loud obnoxious awful hum of noise that always accompanied an airport. It was time for Pentatonix to leave Chicago, Illinois and continue their tour in Los Angeles, California. Like they usually did, they were going to fly.

In the middle of the motherfucking night. While it was stormy as shit outside.

Because, oh yeah, besides the constant annoying loud obnoxious awful hum of people arguing and rushing about and talking, there was also the constant annoying loud obnoxious awful roar of wind that carried hail rapping against the large glass windows (Mitch knew it was tempered glass made to resist the elements, but this did not make him feel any better). Rain had joined the mix several minutes ago, causing the volume of the storm to crank up many notches. It was four in the a.m., Mitch was tired, and he had to get on a plane. Three things that he strongly disliked all happening at the same damn time.

"I'm bored." The smaller man whispered in Scott's ear, turning his face so that he could press his lips on the smooth neck awaiting him.

The blonde felt himself automatically leaning into the gesture, his body language screaming for more contact with the brunette, but with resigned and strictly-taught self-control he pulled away.

"That doesn't mean we should have sex in the middle of an airport, Mitch." He said with more snap in his voice than he had intended. He too was exhausted, of waiting and from lack of sleep.

"I was not thinking-!" Mitch wore an offended expression, sharply inhaling a gust of air and cutting off his own voice. "Please, with all of these people watching? Queen has more class than that."

"Mmmm." Scott nodded placatingly. The countertenor really _hadn't_ been thinking that, and he really _was_ tired, and the drawl in Scott's tone was beginning to greatly piss him off if you mashed all those factors together. Irritated, Mitch crossed his arms, huffing through his nose so that he wouldn't have a freak out. The knowledge that the plane would arrive soon didn't help his clammy hands or his upset stomach.

The baritone had only meant to kid (partially, if he was being honest), instantly noticing the negative vibes rolling off of the brunette. He slowly wrapped an arm around Mitch's tiny figure, tugging him closer. Even as the sharp edge of the cheap wooden chair dug into his side, Mitch gratefully accepted the warm invitation and relaxed against Scott's side.

"Sorry, Mitchie. I didn't mean it."

"I know." Mitch kissed the blonde lightly on the lips and reveled in the taste and smoothness. "I just want to get out of the city. I mean, it was great here, but it's so cold, and our jackets are nowhere in hell thick enough. I wonder how cold it needs to get before the city closes all of the schools...probably some crazy amount like eight feet, because those snow plows are huge. They could take down a monster truck. Hah, if that was a thing that would be amazing; these big tattooed muscled guys in their big-ass trucks ramming their vehicles against the smaller-ass plows that are driven by the skinny snowplow guy."

Scott patiently waited until the end of the countertenor's babble which he immediately knew apparated from nervousness. Since he couldn't hear half of what was exiting Mitch's mouth, he gathered the brunette in his arms and heaved him over his seat.

"Ohmygod!" Mitch exclaimed, startled at the feeling of being lifted into the air. His hands flailed momentarily, and then locked around the baritone's neck to make sure he wouldn't fall over. A second later, the brunette was sitting in Scott's lap (more like practically on top of the blonde). "If you'd ask me to move, I would've moved!"

"Yeah, but that would take too long." Scott smiled and lifted up his phone. "If you're bored, you can listen to music with me. The plane should be here in fifteen minutes, so we don't have long to wait."

Mitch's gaze flicked from the baritone's startling blue orbs to Avi and Kevin, whom were still sitting close to each other and exchanging silent messages about the music with their eyes. Kirstie was intent on her book, as she too was slightly bothered by the noise of the airport and was trying to block it out. The storm continued. Ice shards clicked and clattered loudly.

Bright red-and-purple patterned ear buds were buried in Mitch's bag somewhere; he reached and hooked a finger around the leather strap, attempting to drag it towards him without giving up his spot on Scott's lap. As Mitch's position shifted, the blonde sucked in air as his body did things that he did not want it to do. Mitch moved, wriggling and groping the insides of his bag. Scott felt like connecting his hand to his forehead in exasperation, feeling his pants tighten. Oh, god, this was not the time to be thinking about sex. He had been joking earlier. Just kidding. And they were in a freaking airport, for hell's sake!

Ugh, why was Mitch so damn attractive? If he wasn't, Scott wouldn't be having this problem in the first place.

"You okay, babe?" The brunette asked distractedly, his focus on untying the tangled mess of red cords that were knotted so tightly that they could've won a summer camp award.

Scott breathed. "I'm good." He thought of bad things and sad things until finally his problem went away. He glanced at Mitch, still worrying away at the cords. Good, he hadn't noti-

"I thought you were joking about the sex thing." The brunette looked at Scott from beneath his dark eyelashes, his voice lower and smoother.

Oh, no. "I was."

"Then why are you so _hard?_ " Mitch stopped with his task altogether, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not." Scott said, eager to distract his boyfriend and veer away from the current topic. A light sheen of sweat surfaced on his forehead. He swiftly changed the subject. "Oh, lookie, you got your cords unknotted. Yay. Let's listen to music now."

Smiling slightly (the countertenor would make sure to take care of Scott's problem later), Mitch slipped one earbud in his small ear and handed the other to the blonde, whom copied him. Once he noted that both of them were ready, Scott took hold of the tiny plug and slipped it into his iPhone. He scrolled and scrolled, searching for just the right song, until the man sitting in his lap pointed at a particular playlist that the baritone did not hesitate to tap on.

 _I feel good_

 _I walk along_

 _But then I trip upon myself and I fall_

 _I, I stand up_

 _And then I'm okay_

 _But then you print some shit_

 _That makes me wanna scream_

Mitch began mouthing the words to the funky pop song, nodding his head to the beat. The blonde mimicked him, stifling his giggles when he noticed Avi and Kevin giving the pair weird looks. Kirstie, whom knew her best friend's taste in music almost as well as she knew the back of her own hand, immediately recognized what song they were listening to and grinned.

 _So do what you want_

 _What you want with my body_

 _Do what you want_

"As long as you don't choke me!" The tiny brunette sang aloud to finish the verse, his mind jumping to a Superfruit episode in which they had brushed on that particular essence. Scott laughed, the sound vibrating his chest. He remembered that too.

Avi blinked. "Somebody choked you?"

"Yeah." Mitch answered a little louder than normal due to the lyrics pounding his eardrums. "Scott did the other night when we were-" His explanation broke off into a startled gasp. The baritone had begun tickling him as a means of cutting off whatever he was about to say next. "Ack! Stop, stop! I am going to _kill_ you!"

"Sure." Scott stopped his rein of torture at his boyfriend's command (he was queen, after all). He twisted his head so that he could lightly kiss the faint scowl off of Mitch's face.

 _Do what I want_

 _What I want with your body_

 _Do what I want_

 _What I want with your body_

 _Back at the club_

 _Taking shots_

 _Gettin' naughty_

"No invitations..." The taller man continued to kiss Mitch, allowing a small part of himself to give in to his previous cravings. Suddenly, the stuffy, hot, busy noisy awful airport didn't matter. Enjoying the brunette's sweet taste and twining their tongues together, Scott barely had enough air to sing the few remaining words in a low octave. "...it's a private party."

Kevin was holding one hand in front of his face, attempting to give the couple some privacy and failing. "You guys, people are starting to stare."

The beat boxer was not wrong; many outsiders had paused in their activities and were ogling the two singers kissing, apparently drawn to the sight by some unknown force. Mitch opened his eyes from their closed position, noticed the people watching, and with Gaga still playing in his ears he pulled his mouth away.

"Later." He said when his favorite blonde gave him a slightly hurt look. "When there aren't so many people watching, okay?"

Kirstin had set her book aside to coo. She paused doing that action, received the hurried glance that Avi was sending her, cleared her throat, and gained her two best friend's attention like nobody else could. "Mitch, Scott. Avi says our plane is here."

"Really?" YES! They were getting out of this damn airport! Mitch eagerly leapt out of his boyfriend's lap (which caused his earbud to pop out of his ear) but bounced on the balls of his feet unsteadily. He nearly lost his balance from transitioning to different areas so quickly; Avi reached over and caught his thin arm just before he would've fallen.

"Thanks, Avi." Mitch said gratefully with a smile. The bass nodded, turned, and gathered his things. All of the other group members did the same.

The countertenor winced, distinctive buzzing and humming dancing around his ears once more. He had forgotten about the loud pattering of the ice storm that raged outside, the obnoxious prattle of voices around him, and just the general irritation that he had originally sat in his seat with. He had been distracted. Thank shit that they were going to get on a plane and out of here.

Mitch's stomach lurched. He had also forgotten about the plane. Now getting on it wasn't such a great idea.

"Ugh, we have to get on the plane."

Scott took his boyfriend's hand and squeezed it in reassurance. "It'll be fine, Mitchie." He leaned down so that his nose skimmed the brunette's pale throat. "You'll have me to distract you."

Kevin and Avi gave half-amused, half-impatient stares. Kirstin rolled her eyes fondly at all for of them and forged ahead to catch their ride. The noise was beginning to get to her. Plus, she honestly just wanted out of this cooped airport. Conversation began to flow among the group in snippets.

"That rain is effing loud."

"It's hail, actually."

"Are you correcting the queen?"

"Yes."

"Fine. So, Avi, I was sitting in Scott's lap and digging around my bag for my buds, and all of a sudden he-"

"Hey! Not cool, Mitchie!"

"I'm not sorry. I'm grumpy, haven't been kissed in five minutes, and am about to get on a plane. Not the best mix for me."

"I can solve one of your problems."

"Which one?"

"Your grumpiness. I could tickle you again. Then the problem is solved."

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"No kisses for a week."

"Ha!"

"What's so funny, Hoying? I can bump it up to two if you think you can manage one, tough guy."

"Oh, Mitchie. You aren't going to last half an hour."


	11. The Boy Who Could Sing High

**My fingers are killing me, my spine just popped, and maybe I've gone half-blind in one eye from staring at my computer screen for so long, but THIS ONESHOT IS FINALLY FINISHED! YAY! I felt the urge to write a longer one for you guys (that's why I'm updating a day later than my usual week) since I feel like I've just been presenting you with really short stuff. Thank all of the Gods of Olympus this thing is done.**

 **I know I promised that the partially-French oneshot I'm writing would be the next one I posted, but that one is also pretty long (I think it may turn out to be as long as _Do Not Disturb,_ which is around 6,500 words), so that specific one will have to wait a little while. But I am definitely cracking down on that sucker every chance I get.**

 **So! Enough of my babble and onto the description/summary; firstly, it takes place while Scott and Mitch are in elementary school (I know, weird, but why not) and it tells of the time that they first meet and show off their singing skills to each other. We all know they become best friends in the end, and this oneshot shows how the best friends started. This isn't essentially _Scomiche_ per say, as in it doesn't focus on the romantic aspect of the ship, and it centers more around their friendship and their mutual beginning attraction to each other. I'm also planning on writing one more oneshot that takes place in their elementary school years (one focused around their auditions for _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ and explains the moment in which Scott realizes he's obsessed with the brunette...BUT THAT'S ANOTHER ONESHOT).**

 **Eeesh, all of that was long. There's just so much to update you guys on, it's hard to fit it all into only a few short paragraphs. Thanks to you if you spared the time to read all of that.**

 **Thank you for all of your kind reviews! Happy reading!**

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"You sound like a girl!" Preston called, pointing at Mitch and therefore singling him out. Within the span of five seconds every fourth grader on the playground had their eyes trained on the small brunette boy, who wore a hurt expression that almost nobody cared about. They were going to have entertainment for the next few minutes; did it matter if a kid or two got wounded in the process?

Mitch (whose tiny ears were ringing because Preston had literally yelled in his face) blinked at the loud proclaimation. He noticed that now everybody was staring at him. He felt himself beginning to flush red in embarrassment. Standing by the basketball hoops and trying to make friends was now the absolute worst mistake of his life.

"No I don't!" He protested. His voice was strained due to his nervousness, making it sound even higher than its usual near-soprano. At the sound of Mitch's tone, Preston guffawed loudly, gesturing for more children to come closer and join him.

Gabriel, one of Preston's friends, sniggered at the tiny boy before him. "Do you like pink and wear girls clothes, Pipsqueak?" The two bullies laughed again. Several kids surrounding the scene giggled as well. More and more children on the playground dropped their jump ropes and called a pause to their games of hopscotch or four square in order to rush over and see which of their classmates were being picked on.

Tears of humiliation gathered in Mitch's eyes. "Why are you so _mean?_ " He said, on the verge of sobbing. Oh, where was his mother when he needed her? Her yells might've drowned out Preston's taunts.

"Aww." Preston smiled an evil, evil smile. "Are you gonna cry like a little girl too, Pipsqueak? Go on, cry and run home to your mommy and your sister! And while you're at it, play dress-up with them too!"

Finally, the kids whom were watching couldn't help themselves any longer and burst into laughter. Mitch's lower lip wobbled as wetness fell down his cheeks and his throat closed up so that he couldn't talk even if he wanted to. Good thing he didn't want to; he'd just get made fun of again.

In that moment, ten-year-old Mitchell Grassi hated the voice that God had given him. His anger rose to match his sadness and his face twisted in a terrible expression.

"You bullies!" Mitch shrieked thickly, nearly taken aback by how mean another human being could be. Gabriel snickered and mimicked his partner-in-crime by pointing an outstretched hand at the brunette as he teased.

"Ha, ha! Pipsqueak's a girl! Pipsqueak's a girl!" Preston began to chant. The dynamics of the phrase grew and grew. Soon Mitch found himself listening to an endless replay of cat-calls and endless views of rude faces and cruel grins. "Pipsqueak's a _girl!_ Pipsqueak's a _girl!_ Pipsqueak's a-"

"I AM NOT A GIRL!" Mitch screamed at the top of his lungs, with so much force that it hurt his swollen throat. As always, the words carried an unnaturally high pitch that seemed to suggest otherwise. Everyone immediately quieted.

The brunette hiccupped, turned on his heel, and ran across the blacktop while furiously wiping at his face to rid it of any moisture. He only paused to yank the door of his school open, before he disappeared behind the metal rectangle with nothing more than a simple click. The kids on the playground whom had not participated in making fun of their classmate instantly felt sympathy (for many of them had previously been bullied by Preston and Gabriel), and the ones who had felt a sliver of regret. Mitch was a good kid, and a good friend, but...his voice was just so _high_ , and the temptation to poke fun at him had been too great.

All of the children stared at Preston and Gabriel.

"What are you all looking at?" The bullies asked, and everybody returned to playing like they had before.

* * *

Mitch had quickly tired from running throughout the halls and chose to walk instead (this partially had to do with the fact that he didn't want to get in trouble for running inside of school, or being inside of the school when he should be on the playground). His mind raced as he passed the first grade hallway, full of hand-drawn pictures and sketches that were colored in the lines. Some of the classroom doors were open so Mitch could hear many giggles and the usual buzz of class conversation.

After another minute went by the brunette realized that he had been walking in circles, alternating between the first, second, and third grade halls. He froze when he heard the sharp crack of heels against tile. A teacher was coming! What should he do? Mitch's brain couldn't think fast enough, however, because two seconds later he was face-to-stomach (why was he so short, oh why) with a woman that gave off a serious aura that was matched by her solemn dark green eyes.

"Young man? What are you doing in the hallway without a pass?" She questioned primly, the clack of her shoes coming to an abrupt halt. The smaller student resisted the urge to hang his head in shame. He rarely misbehaved. Being put on the spot was new to him.

"I-I came from recess." His voice rang, pitchy and stuttering.

"Then why aren't you still on the playground?" The harshness of her tone was only making Mitch feel worse about his voice and his situation. He was going to start crying again, and he knew it. This was too much for one day.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, I-I just..."

The middle-aged woman noticed right then how stressed the boy before her was, on top of how guilty he looked, and also noticed his eyes were red and puffy. Instantly she softened, her own jade gaze calming as she bent down to match the student's height.

"Why are you wandering the halls, boy?" She asked not unkindly. Mitch glanced up to see her smiling at him slightly. He sniffed, making no reply even though he was secretly happy that this teacher was one of the nice ones. Maybe he could talk to her. But when he opened his mouth, he found his vocal chords unwilling and his tongue in equal dismay, and so no sound exited his throat.

The woman somehow understood. "How about you go walk to the office and call your parents so that they can pick you up? I'm sure your teacher would be okay with that."

Mitch shook his head. No way in heck were his parents going to know about this before he told his sister. And anyway, that would only cause more of a stir and bring forth more embarrassment; he had already run away crying, and now his mom had to pick him up? Not that he minded, yet still. His mother didn't have to hear Preston's taunts for herself.

The teacher with dark green eyes offered up a new option. "Then...you can go to the office and sit in one of the comfy chairs there, just to think in the peace and quiet for a little while. When you're ready you can go back to class. I'll go to your teacher and tell her that you'll be late. What's her name?"

Now Mitch had to speak. "Mrs. Angelo."

Smiling more openly now, the woman rose. "Thank you. Off to the main office, before someone who's not as nice as me catches you, okay?" She briskly raised an eyebrow, and waved one hand away from her. "Go on!"

The brunette boy gave her a slight grin; then the two turned and went opposite ways. Mitch was feeling a little better (he wasn't bawling his eyes out, which was an improvement) even though his eyes still itched along with the constant throb in his head, but for now he was okay. He examined more hand-drawn pictures and heard at least five more giggles and at least two more teachers telling their students to hush before he finally arrived at a big wooden door that had the word _OFFICE_ on it in bold black lettering.

Mitch looked up at the looming entrance, feeling off-putted. He had never gotten in trouble, not once, therefore he was never sent to go see the principal. He was never sent on errand runs, or to put something in a teacher's mailbox, or to serve a detention or anything like that. His breathing slightly unsteady now, Mitch lifted a hand and twisted the cold silver knob in front of him.

Immediately he wanted to plug his nose. The room smelled of bitter rose perfume and stagnant coffee. Five ladies were working behind a large desk, three sipping tea and musing at their computers, one sorting papers, and one whom had told a fifth grader that 'if they ever threw a grilled cheese sandwich at Mike Vicell Thornburrow again they would lop off his head and feed it to the wolves', or something like that.

The fifth grader's mouth pulled into a sneer, and he stomped off with his hall pass right by Mitch's surprised face. The taller child flung the office door open and made sure it slammed with a bang. That was when the lady whom had been threatening the other boy noticed the brown-haired one that had just entered. She had her grey hair in curls that fell to right above her shoulders.

"What are you here for?" The lady asked, her voice guttural and low (she blamed it on the cigarettes). Mitch swallowed, spotted an array of chairs set far away from the working desk of the ladies, and pointed to it.

The lady peered at Mitch, her glasses glinting in the florescent lights. "Eh? You were told to sit here?"

The brunette with the high voice nodded.

"Fine." She said, gesturing at him to shoo. "Don't cause any trouble, boy. The principal has his hands full with another student, so if you wanna talk to him, you're gonna have to wait."

That was more than okay with Mitch. He nodded again (gosh, but he hated to speak) and scurried over to the circular set of leather chairs waiting for him. As soon as he sat down on a chestnut-colored loveseat, the cushions began to swallow him up. Giggling a little and forgetting where he was for a moment, Mitch wiggled his legs and laughed a bit louder: this was like sitting on a squashy bouncy house.

Suddenly, the door to the principal's office flew open. Mitch froze in his chair, not wanting to look like he was doing something he shouldn't be doing (even if he was doing nothing wrong, but still) and watched as a boy with bright blonde hair walked out. The principal stood in the doorway and said, "Your mom will be here in a while, so I suggest you take a seat and wait for her."

"Yes, Mr. McGlocken." The boy's voice was a solid, smooth timbre that made Mitch instantly jealous. Why did that boy have a tone like chocolate and his own tone be nails on a chalkboard?

Mitch was yanked from his thoughts when the principal closed the door in the boy's face. The blonde stared for a moment at the slightly see-through glass, sighed, and spun on his heel. The brunette tilted his face away, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself. For all he knew, that kid could be one of Preston's friends, and if he was, then the blonde was nothing more than another bully ready to tease him for his voice.

Light footsteps crept up next to Mitch, whom was pretending to be very interested in the bland beige of the office walls. In the following moment the loveseat sank as somebody else's body weight was added to it. The brunette twisted his neck in shock so fast that he might've heard it pop.

Mitch met the piercing gaze of two bold blue eyes. The boy who was looking at him had a defined jaw and a medium build, and he also smiled when their gazes met, asking in that low voice of his, "What'd you do to get in here, huh?"

The smaller boy made no response (how could he, with a voice that sounded like it belonged to a girl?) except to bow his head and play with his fingers. The boy with blue eyes let it slide for only a moment, before he said, "Something really bad, maybe?" He gasped quietly when Mitch didn't reply. "Did you hit a girl?"

The brunette's eyes widened and he shook his head frantically. He'd never thrown a punch in his life and he didn't plan to; the thought of even minorly harming one of his friends (who, yes, we're mostly girls. Okay, all of them were girls. In Mitch's defense, he found boys a lot meaner) made him blink in surprise. The blonde sitting next to him sighed.

"Well, what did you do then? There's nothing as bad as hitting a girl...did you break something? Steal a kids lunch? Write a bad word on the whiteboard?" When Mitch remained silent, the taller boy had to resist the urge to throw his hands in the air in exasperation. Perhaps he was asking the wrong questions. Maybe he should start with, "Are you a mute?"

Mitch bit his lip and shook his head.

"Then why can't you talk?"

Clearing his throat, the smaller boy glanced up at the blonde, saying in his near-soprano that was very quiet, "I can."

The blonde boy blinked, slightly shocked at the pitch of the other child's voice. After another moment passed, with Mitch sweating and wondering whether or not he was going to be made fun of and the blonde's face still and unmoving, the silence between the pair broke when the kid with blue eyes grinned.

"Good." He said warmly. "I thought I was talking to a brick wall." He stuck out a hand. "My name is Scott."

Dark brown eyes flickered from the blonde's honest face to his outstretched hand. Tentatively Mitch reached and shook it.

"I'm Mitch." He returned shyly, peeking up at his new friend from beneath his eyelashes. The corners of Scott's mouth instantly titled upwards.

"I like your name. I think it's cute." The blonde boy said to a taken aback Mitch.

"Thanks. I like yours too."

A solid beat passed between the two boys as they sized each other up. Scott was once again the one to initiate the first move, because the fact that the brunette was hesitant to talk was so obvious, so he tilted his head to the side and questioned, "So will you tell me now, why you're in here?"

The smaller boy's expression went from curious and flattered to sour within the span of a few seconds. "I needed a place to think." He replied shortly, not wanting to relive or remember the cruel taunts of his classmates.

Scott was no idiot, as he sensed something amiss, and pressed, "There must be more to it than that. If you wanted a place to think you should've gone home. This school is the noisiest place on the planet."

Ripping himself away from his current conversation, Mitch realized that yeah, the building was buzzing with a constant roar of noise that he had temporarily forgotten about. Therefore, every time one of the five ladies coughed or sneezed or a paper was thrown away or faxed or sorted or somebody opened their mouth to talk, Scott was being proven right.

"Fine." Mitch said in his high tone, biting his lip out of nervousness again. "Preston was bullying me."

"Preston Whitticker?" Scott pulled a face. Even though he was a fifth grader, everyone up to the sixth grade knew of the ten-year-old bully, whose victims usually started off standing under the basketball hoop. "Why was he bullying you?"

The smaller child hesitated, unsure, but the sincerity in Scott's eyes was driving him to talk. "He was teasing me for my voice."

"Because it's so high?"

In response the other kid nodded. He knew his voice was high before being bullied for it (if your voice was a higher pitch than your sister's, then it was kinda obvious), yet he never thought it would morph into an obstacle. He didn't like his tone. He wanted Scott's.

Said blonde paused for a moment, mulling over the sound of the brunette's pitchy melody that was unusual and strange. He said honestly, "I think your voice is beautiful."

Mitch's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't ever received a compliment like that in his entire life, not only spoken by an almost-stranger, but an almost-stranger who said it like they meant it. A warmth began to fill the small boy's cheeks, a feat he was not familiar with, making butterflies in his stomach he didn't know existed twirl and to spins in midair. "Thank you. No one's ever told me that before." Mitch sighed, gazing at Scott wistfully. "I wish I had your voice, though."

The taller boy scoffed. "Yeah, right. Mine's really average and boring. Everybody has my voice."

The brunette thought for a moment, his mother coming to his mind. "My mom, 'cause she knows I have a high voice, always said that it doesn't matter what your voice sounds like, it's what you can do with it that counts."

"Your mom sounds cool." Scott's eyebrows furrowed. A mischievous glint became pronounced in his eyes as he sent Mitch a look that was only a tish devious. "...can you do anything with your voice? Besides talk?" He playfully nudged his new friend.

Mitch grinned. "I sing sometimes. Along to the radio. And in the shower."

"I bet you sound great." Scott reached a hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, his mouth sheepish. "I sing too. My mom says I should try to get a part in the musical. You know, _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_? She says that maybe I could get a part."

"You should try out, Scott." The brunette encouraged, visions of the blonde dancing across the auditorium and belting his heart out forcing him to giggle. "You'd be great too."

"Sure. Tell that to the directors."

A moment passed in comfortable silence between the pair. Scott watched Mitch glance up at him every now and then, realize that he was being stared at in return, and would then hide his eyes by looking quite intently at the ground or obscuring them from view by letting his bangs go in his line of sight. The hustle and bustle of the office sounded bizarrely loud all of a sudden; it felt like the two had been wrapped up in their own private little bubble that Mitch didn't want to pop so quickly. He thought up another inquiry.

"What's the lowest note you can sing?" He asked, partly because he wished to know more about Scott in general, partly because he wished to hear how well the blonde sang.

The child with blue eyes shrugged. "I tried a really really really low note once, but I couldn't get it out. My dad told me that I sound like a baritone or something like that and baritone's can't go as low as I was trying to go."

"What's a baritone?" Mitch had never heard the term before.

"A boy who sings higher than a bass, those are guys who sing super-de-duper low, and lower than a tenor. My dad taught me that stuff." The blonde tilted his head at Mitch, an idea blooming in his head, as he was also intent on hearing the tone of the other child's voice in song. "How high can you sing? Maybe you're a tenor."

The brunette lifted a sassy eyebrow. It was so easy to be himself around Scott. "You go first."

Scott smiled, cleared his throat, opened his mouth, and made the lowest sound Mitch had heard ever. After a few seconds the noise tired the soon-to-be baritone's vocal chords and he had to stop. As the other child's face lit up and his hands came together in claps, Scott bowed the best he could while still staying in his sitting position. "Thank you, thank you very much." He jutted his chin at Mitch, barely able to contain his excitement. "Your turn."

"You want me to sing my highest note?"

"Yup."

"Like, my whistle?"

"Your what?"

"My whistle notes. That's what my mom calls them, anyway. I can make noises like a whistle." Mitch blushed shyly. "Want me to show you?"

" _Yes._ "

The brunette copied Scott by clearing his throat, waiting a beat, and then sang, "Hi, Scott, how are you doing today?" In such a high pitch that one of the ladies working behind the desk called, "Somebody shut the damn window, I can hear the birds all the way over here!"

Scott (who was awed at Mitch's vocal ability) immediately recovered and collapsed into mirth, trying and failing to cover the noise by hiding his lips behind his hand. The brunette laughed along with him for a good minute or so until the two calmed down.

"That was amazing! You must be a countertenor." Scott said, throwing in a friendly wink.

"Uh..."

"A boy who can sing higher than a tenor. It's the highest male voice type." Mitch didn't understand half of the words exiting the blonde's mouth, but they sounded impressive, so he grinned. "You should audition with me in a couple days, Mitch. It would be a lot more fun if you were there with me."

"Well..." The aspiring countertenor wasn't absolutely positive. Though, if he did go, it wouldn't be so bad since Scott would be there too. "I'll think about it."

"Great! It'll be so much-"

"Mr. Hoying?" The voice of the principal boomed. Scott's face jumped from happy to neutral in a second flat. Mr. McGlocken pointed to the doorway of the office. Since the door wasn't completely transparent (it was made up of that were semi-see-though glass that offices always favored. "Your mother is here to pick you up. And watch your tongue next time, Mr. Hoying, or it'll be more than an early dismissal." The dark-suited man disappeared, closing his personal door and presuming to do whatever mysterious tasks that principals do.

Mitch found himself saddening. "You have to go?" He said softly, not wanting to part with the funny, gushing-with-life-and-energy blonde with pretty blue eyes.

"Yeah." Scott didn't want to leave either. "But I kind of have to. I lost a dare...so I went up to my teacher and told her she smelled like a wet dog."

The smaller child giggled. Scott gave a smile.

"How about we meet on the blacktop, all the way in the left corner, right before school starts tomorrow morning?" The baritone proposed, biting his lip nervously and praying the brunette accepted the invitation. Mitch nodded eagerly. Scott's smile became wide and easy. He slowly backed away from Mitch, wishing to stay and stare into his dark, dark brown eyes.

"Bye, Mitch." The blue-eyed child waved.

"Bye Scott. See you tomorrow." Mitch said in his voice that matched a countertenor's so perfectly. With a last look, Scott opened the office door and closed it firmly after his feet left the carpeted ground and found solid tile.

The tiny fourth grader sighed. He stayed in silence, missing the blonde and already teeming for the following day. The butterflies in his stomach weren't helping matters.

"Jeez, kid, ya don't have to be so dramatic." One of the office ladies said (she was a little younger than the other four old wretches), raising a thin eyebrow at Mitch. "You'll see him tomorrow." She pointed to the door that Scott had stepped out of. "And you've been here a while and haven't done nothin'. Time to get back to class."

Mitch heaved himself from his seat, wobbled on his toes, regained his balance, and walked forward a few steps. Right after his hand touched the cool metal of the office door, he turn around and said, "Miss?" To the lady that had shooed him out.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Do you know what a tenor is...and how high they can sing?"

"Beats me. I never got into all of that music crap. Go on to class, boy, and make sure you're not late. I don't need Mrs. Angelo yapping at me that her 'high-pitched prodigy' disappeared into thin air, that's bad press. Now, move along, please." A bird, a real one this time, sang it's tune that could be heard from outside of the window, which was still open. "And would someone _please_ close that window!?"

Mitch waited until the office door was securely closed and he had made it halfway down the hallway before he allowed himself to burst into silent laugher, thinking of whistle notes, his own high voice, and a certain blue-eyed blonde. His sister was going to freak once he told her the moment he got home.

And, with luck, perhaps she and his mother would beat up Preston and Gabriel for him. Those two kids were right meanies. Though, their demise would require some bribery...how much money was in his piggy bank again?


	12. Gondola

**Hello, my readers! Busy, busy week. But it's all worth it, because here's your next oneshot!** **This was so much fun to write and I can't wait for you guys to read it.**

 **Alright, the summary; all Scott Hoying wants to do is take his boyfriend on a romantic date in Italy. That romantic date just so happens to take place aboard a gondola. Which may or may not be in danger of tipping over. A little boy/boy slash towards the end, nothing too major. This story is mostly fluff.**

 **Thank you for your favorites, follows, and reviews! Read away!**

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Everything in Italy looked like a beautiful painting; the sky was a clear, bright blue-indigo, the grass a lush emerald, the buildings an appealing tan. The people were nice, some smiling at the group when they tried to speak barely passable Italian (barely passable was being generous. Kevin tried to say "How are you doing sir?" which really turned out to be "I like eat blue chocolate goats because sun." The beat boxer knew had had said something weird when the man he was attempting to talk to began to roar with laughter), and the many whom understood them were kind enough to point them all in the right direction if they expressed that they were lost (trying to find their hotel was a little difficult). And to top it all off, everybody was in a great mood.

Really, how could the day start off any better?

The five of Pentatonix were walking down the brick-like road, with Avi and Kirstie in the front, Mitch and Scott in the middle, and Kevin hanging back so he could observe with awe. Not that the rest of them weren't, but it was just that the beat boxer was fascinated by everything, especially Italy and its cultures.

The baritone had been gazing at Mitch, his face holding a content smile as he watched the brunette's dark brown eyes light up at every new thing he saw. Mitch noticed after a few minutes, bumped the side of his hip against his boyfriend's in a playful gesture, and waited until the blonde's giggles had mostly subsided before standing up on his toes to give him a light kiss.

When Mitch pulled away, he grinned. "Today is so great, Rebecca." He grabbed Scott's hand and linked their fingers together. "You and I should explore later. And eat dinner at that one restaurant that smelled like lavender on the outside and had that huge flower on its front door, did you see it? Or ride a gondola. I've always wanted to do that."

Scott, with his mind jumping ahead to all the things that not only he and Mitch would get to do together but all of the things Pentatonix would do together, concluded that oh yeah, the day could start off better.

The group continued to navigate themselves the best that they could, occasionally taking a wrong turn or a few steps west instead of north, but eventually they reached the front doors of their hotel (the outside colored a burgundy that was both harsh and bold, with hydrangeas and lilies pouring out of the flower boxes that were attached to every window). Scott took a moment to breathe in the heavy scent of the colorful plants; his head, previously fogged from the kiss he had received from his boyfriend, immediately cleared.

Little did he know that the effect would not last very long; for when they had walked into the modest-but-neat-and-clean inside of the hotel to check in and were waiting in a line to get their room keys, Mitch leaned on Scott and gave him another peck on the cheek.

"Stop distracting me, Mitchie. It's rude." Scott said, lifting his eyebrows and making sure his tone was teasing. In response, the countertenor merely rolled his eyes.

"I'll distract you all I like. What are you going to do to stop me?" Mitch taunted. A smirk was working its gleeful way across his sharp features.

The baritone bit his lip like he had to think deeply. "I don't know...maybe I should _tickle_ -" Before he finished his sentence, he was already reaching for the brunette's ribcage, knowing that it was his most sensitive spot (for reasons he would never, ever tell Avi or Kevin or Kirstie or anybody, for that matter) and Mitch was already peeling himself from Scott's side and moving out of the way.

"That's not very nice!" The countertenor swatted at the blonde's fingers. "I swear, if you tickle me right now in front of all of these people-" Scott looked around; it was true, there were curious/confused Italians in the lobby whom had paused in sipping their coffee or eating their breakfast to watch the current spectacle. He hadn't realized just how loud he had been talking until now. "-I will not do anything romantic with you _all week._ "

"Wait a minute, does that mean-"

"You got it. We won't share a room."

"Unfair!" Scott protested even though his hands returned to his sides at Mitch's request.

As the two continued to banter, Avi smiled kindly at the receptionist (who, thankfully, was bilingual) and said that yes, they'd like three rooms please, and no, they wouldn't prefer the room that reeked of cigar smoke from the previous patron, but they'd still really like that room, and alright fine, they would wait until the staff could rid the room of the odor, and would you mind telling the group where to sit and wait and also for how long they were to do so?

The receptionist, a well-spoken Italian with straight eyebrows and amber eyes, replied in accented English, "The waiting room, over there, to your left. I would guess maybe...twenty or thirty minute wait? Yes, that sounds right. Come up to the desk in about one half hour to get your room keys all at once. Thank you sir."

The bass sighed, nodded, and turned around to the rest of the quintet. His deep, solemn voice immediately silenced all of their conversations. "C'mon, you guys. We have to wait for our rooms."

It seemed as though the mood of the group visibly depleted. Scott frowned, thinking back to several minutes beforehand when he had thought the day was excellent. Though, he guessed that they were slightly upset now because they were tired and jet-lagged, not because they were honestly mad about the delay of their room. They all trudged over to a waiting area off to the side (which was actually quite nice, with it's warm gold walls and shining wood floors).

"How long do we have to wait?" The high-pitched ring of Mitch's tone said from the baritone's side.

"Thirty minutes." Avi said back. He launched into a brief explanation of the cigar smoke, ignoring Kevin when the beat boxer poked at his arm. "...so we're supposed to wait here." He stopped talking for a moment, jabbed at Kevin's arm, and continued with raised eyebrows. "Maybe we should plan what we're going to do until the concert. Any ideas?"

Kirstin's remark was half-serious, half-joking. "Sleep?"

Scott made a disinterested noise even though he partially agreed with her. "We should do something fun." He glanced at Mitch. "Eat at that restaurant you were telling me about? Or maybe walk around some more. There's so much to see here, guys, and this is our first time in Italy. And it's only..." The blonde briefly checked his watch. "...12:09. Plenty of time to do something interesting before we conk out in our rooms."

An idea was beginning to bloom at the base of Scott's mind as he recalled another activity that his boyfriend had asked that they do. He opened his mouth to suggest it, then sealed his lips. The idea was growing into something more than just a friendly whatever-it's-not-that-important-but-it's-something-to-do-and-we're-in-Italy kind of thing. Scott remained silent as he mulled over the start of a plan.

Meanwhile, outside of the baritone's bubble of intense thought, the sole beat boxer tapped his dark finger to his mouth, contemplating. "I saw this really cool old knick-knack shop across the street and a few buildings down. Let's go see what stuff we can find in there."

Avi and Mitch said at the same time, "Sounds good." The mixture of their voices that so strongly contrasted each other made the quintet's shoulders loosen as they laughed a little.

The bass hoisted his heavy bag in his non-dominant hand effortlessly. "That store you saw is making me curious. Do you think we could leave now and get our rooms in an hour or so?"

Scott had been observing his friends closely. Now that he thought about it, Avi and Kevin did look pretty cramped in the spacious waiting room, despite being surrounded by the calming presence of their friends. He suddenly felt as if he was being suffocated by the stuffy warm air, and his previous ponderings involving Mitch, candles, and the hour of midnight began to evade him.

"How about this," The singer blurted. "Kirstie and Mitch stay here and wait for our rooms. The three of us go out and to the shop and find a nice place to eat. Then we bring back lunch and take the longest naps of the century. Yeah?"

"You don't want me to come with you?" The small countertenor asked, trying to mask the slight hurt he felt at the exclusion. Scott instantly recognized what his partner was conveying and leaned down to give him a soft kiss.

When he pulled away, the blonde nuzzled the shorter man for a moment before saying, "It's not that I don't want you to come, Mitchie. I want you to stay here because you look exhausted as hell and you need rest. Plus Kirstie would be here all alone-"

"-ooh, we can do our nails! And go over those lyrics we were talking about-"

"-so therefore you should stay." Scott finished. He pressed his lips to Mitch's forehead reassuringly.

After thinking about it for another second, Mitch nodded. "Okay. Bring me some bread and pasta, babe?"

"At your command, my queen." The baritone bowed low. A grin was evident on his face the moment he straightened. Avi handed his bags to the waiting mezzo, who shot him a playful smile, and the percussionist set his own belongings on the floor at the feet of the Queen himself.

Three of the five members of Pentatonix bid their goodbyes, quickly exiting the hotel as fast as their feet would allow them to move. Kevin almost gasped once they stepped onto the stone road, reveling in the fresh, non-stuffy air. Sunlight beat down on them, warm and comforting.

"I felt so cramped in there." He announced as the trio started their journey to what the beat boxer had called 'the knick-knack shop'. "I think we have to walk a few more houses down, guys..."

Avi gestured to the river set before them. "Ride a gondola on the water if you don't like tight places. There's plenty of room on the water."

"Riding a gondola does sound cool. We should do it while we're here...because we can really only do it in Italy." Kevin murmured. "What do you think, Scott?"

As they glanced over, both vocal instrumentalists noticed a change. The blonde had a certain expression on his face that made his two friends suspicious. It was Scott's _I'm planning something_ face.

"Uh oh. Scott's planning something. What's up, brother?"

Smirking in anticipation, though only with a little wickedness, Scott replied steadily, "Oh, nothing. By the way, if you wake up and hear Mitch yelling and shouting death threats, it's because I'm planning on taking him out into the middle of the night. So don't worry too much. And in order to yank him out if bed, I'm going to need your help. Are you in?"

* * *

"Can I uncover my eyes now?" Mitch grumped. He would be shivering his skinny ass off if not for the fact that his insane boyfriend stood directly behind him and radiated warmth like a heater. He should've brought clothes that provided the heat themselves, except, oh right, he'd been shaken awake and practically dragged out of his own motherfucking hotel bed in the middle of the damn night, therefore he hadn't had the opportunity to.

No effing wonder.

Scott wrapped his arms around the brunette's waist. He was close to jumping up and down with giddiness. "You can open them now."

Not expecting much, the smaller singer allowed his hands to fall. His dark brown eyes, even darker at this time of night, widened considerably and he gasped.

In front of him was a long gondola, something that he had always wanted to ride, with soft white and pink lights strewn across it. Sitting in the middle of the thin boat, carefully placed, was a single purple hydrangea standing proudly. There were also several candles, though they had been lit and covered with great caution. A faint rose scent worked its way around the small floating area, causing the countertenor's previously coiled nerves to sooth. All in all, with the buildings adding their gentle yellow hues and the blanket of stars set above the pair, the arrangement was beautiful.

Since his boyfriend was only staring in silence, Scott's brain immediately kicked into panic mode. "Um. D...Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Mitch breathed, pulling in more of the rose smell. Spinning on his heel, he smiled and hugged the nervous blonde tightly, whispering into his ear, "I love it. It's perfect."

Scott squeezed his boyfriend back. "Good. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Mission accomplished. I had no idea. How'd you do all of this?"

 _Kevin and Avi. I owe them big time._ The man with blue eyes thought. He was now determined to pay his generous friends back one day. For now, however...

He grabbed the brunette's hand. Jutting his chin in the direction of the gondola, he said, "Wanna ride?"

Five minutes later, the pair were floating in the middle of the river, gazing up at the constellations and eating the picnic-like snacks that the baritone had thought to bring along, hidden beneath the seats. Mitch laughed when Scott threw a strawberry in the air and tried to catch it with his mouth, watching as the fruit bounced off of his cheek and landed in the water with a _plop._

"The fish will get it." Scott proclaimed in a tone that oozed confidence, not at all worried that he might've just contaminated the river for forevermore. Nope. It was not eating away at the edge of his conscious. No, sir.

It was right then that Mitch pointed up at the night sky, asking that his partner look, see, those ones connect to make an Aquarius, oh, and that one is Orion. And duh, the Little Dipper is right there silly head. And in that moment, his boyfriend's eyes shining, his mouth parted, his expression happy and righteous and the moment as perfect as that very morning, Scott could not resist and had to kiss him.

Mitch was startled at the swift movement, barely restraining the automatic urge to balk, but within the following seconds he relaxed and slipped his hand around Scott's neck. The baritone's own hands wrapped around Mitch's waist as they had on shore, but this time it was different. This time his grip was seeking and greedy.

Their legs became tangled when Mitch attempted to lock their ankles together (actually, that was a lie. He was really going to bring his leg up to rub a specific spot on his boyfriends body that was starting to demand much of his attention) and the smaller man ended up underneath Scott, their mouths still attached.

The brunette sighed when the other singer moved his lips from his face to his neck, letting a beautiful whine escape when Scott bit down. The blonde's right hand seemed to have melded with his partners waist as he sucked the pain from his bite and Mitch twisted his head so the baritone could have more room. Hot breath danced across his razor-sharp collarbone.

But lord, Mitch had forgotten how good Scott was with his mouth. Pleasure fogged his vision and made his short body tremble with want as warm lips painted butterfly kisses all over his skin. Right about then was when the countertenor decided that Scott's pants needed to come off. Along with the rest of his clothes. But that was all in due time.

His thin fingers hooked on one of the belt loops of his partners jeans. Scott, surpised and definitely turned on by the bold nonverbal request, groaned and shifted his weight to the side.

Wrong move.

The gondola began to tip over ever so slightly. The pair froze in their positions, waiting and curious as to what that creaking noise was. The gondola tilted further. Suddenly Scott noticed how weirdly unbalanced he felt.

"Mitchie, we should probably-"

Yet his warning came too late; the long boat continued to tip and tilt and rock to one side until the side the singers were leaning on couldn't support their weight any longer and-

The gondola flipped over.

 _And they fell into the ice-fucking-cold water._

"Aaaaahhhhh!" Scott yelled, his timbre cut off once his head went under. He heard a similar noise exit Mitch, until it too was silenced. The blonde furiously kicked and moved his arms, breathed deeply once his head resurfaced, and instantly looked around for Mitch.

No other head bobbed up for the next ten seconds. Scott was seriously debating diving down into the freezing water to search for his companion, but soon noted that he didn't have to, for the brunette broke the water and gasped like he was starved for air. The small mans teeth started to chatter as his baritone swam over to him.

"M-M-Mitch!"

"S-S-S-Sc-Sc-" Mitch couldn't even say a simple word, the cold of the water had settled so deep into his bones. However, he smiled when Scott hugged him close to warm him up. Their upturned gondola began floating away, disrupted by the waves all of their splashing had caused.

The countertenor was the first to speak on the matter. "N-N-No mo-o-ore g-gondol-l-la d-dates at n-night, o-o-o-oka-y-y?"

"O-okay." Scott agreed. "M-Mitch?"

"Hmmm-mmmm-mmmm?"

"I l-l-love y-you. I-I'm s-s-s-sorry."

The brunette kissed his boyfriend with cold lips as a sign of forgiveness. He knew the blonde was going to feel guilty for days or possibly weeks. It was better to let him know that Mitch wasn't mad now rather than later. "S'oka-y-y. L-Let's g-g-go back to t-th-th-the hotel."

And underneath the stars, which still shone as brightly as they had not one minute ago under much different circumstances, the two swam to shore as quickly as they could. Mitch rattled all the walk to the hotel room they would share.

Mitch once again made Scott promise there would be no more freezing gondola dates in the middle of the night. Two minutes later the pair reached the front doors of the hotel, the brunette gave his favorite blonde one more peck on the cheek, and they trudged upstairs. Soaked clothes and all.


	13. And Together We Are

**I'M SO SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! This chapter is several days late and I feel terrible for making you guys wait so long for it. I've been tired as hell lately and the inspiration to write it wasn't hitting me until the last minute. Therefore, in order to get back in y'all's good graces, I'll be posting another chapter within the next few days (I kinda wanna update solely on each Sunday. It seems like it'll work) so this one time you guys don't have to wait as long. Think of it as a peace offering!**

 **Once again, I am beyond sorry, my readers.**

 **Now, past my woes and onto the summary; Mitch Grassi falls down the stairs, which wouldn't be such a big deal if he hadn't lost his memory along the way** **. Which just figures.**

 **By the way, would you guys like it if I wrote a little more boy/boy slash? I haven't done anything too crazy so far, and I kinda feel like a slashy chapter or two is overdue. Let me know!**

 **Thank you for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Happy reading!**

* * *

While merely lounging around his shared apartment watching TV, the idea came to Mitch that he should take a shower. Not a long one, of course, those were reserved for specific times (like right after the brunette had accidentally drunk too much and was vomiting left and right, or when he was particularly stressed out and needed to get away from the rest of humanity...actually, never mind. Mitch took super long showers all the time), but a swift one just to wash off the invisible film of yuck that was layered on his skin, the kind of yuck that you feel after doing nothing all day and not showering at the time you usually would.

Mitch's eyes flicked to his cell phone. Without a second thought he scooped it up and clicked the home button to see the time; _5:39._ He was supposed to go sing a duet with his best friend Scott in a few hours, which meant he'd have to dress nicely, which meant that yes, he would have to take a shower, and he'd have to make it unpleasantly quick.

Sighing, the small singer reached for the television remote, shut off the screen, and heaved himself from his spot on the couch. As he walked up the stairs, he wondered over normal things; would he look good in that oversized white blazer he owned? And Scott was picking him up, right? Oh, and Kirstie had told him that she and Avi were thinking about contacting Lindsey to do another video.

The brunette absentmindedly undressed, turned on the hot water, and slipped into the shower as the bathroom mirror began to fog. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, reveling in the heat of the steam.

For the next few minutes, Mitch took his shower in peace, sometimes singing aloud to practice, sometimes not. After ten bundles of sixty seconds passed he decided that he had better get out before his fingers transformed into prunes. His mind once again wandered to what he would wear.

It was then that the countertenor realized that oh, shit. Scott was supposed to text Mitch when he was close to the apartment, and he had wittingly left his phone downstairs.

"Dammit." He said quietly, wrapping a white towel around his thin frame tightly. Sure his feet were a little wet, but he trusted himself not to slip. Honestly, who really did slip and fall and crack their head open when leaving the shower? TV over dramatized everything.

That thought and the mantra _I will not fall, I will not fall, I will not fall_ led Mitch out into the cool hallway floor, and he carefully padded his way towards the stairs (and, despite his chant, kept his wary eyes on his feet).

Right as he was thinking with some glee, _Wow, I'm really not going to fall,_ he took his first step and his eyes left his toes.

That's about when everything went to hell.

Mitch's gaze was locked on the couch, all the way down the stairs, so he didn't notice when his back foot slid slightly. He _did_ notice when his front foot began to slide as well, and reached out a hand to grab the railing. For some reason, however, the cold metal of the rail never touched his fingertips. This sudden knowledge made Mitch's thoughts go from calm to panicked within the span of a split-second. He sensed his body slipping, and tried to lunge for the rail, but it was too late.

One moment Mitch was at the top of the stairs and in moment number two he was falling down the stairs. Trying to maintain some sort of control, he twisted his body so that he could claw at the steps and regain balance. The motion caused his head to snap back farther than it had been originally.

A sickening _CRACK!_ sound echoed in the following instance. Mitch felt a horrible pain in his head at the same time stars and black spots covered his line of sight. He couldn't feel his head anymore. Or his hands, or his feet, or his legs, or his arms. He couldn't feel anything except for this awful, awful burn in his head.

Since his body was now slack, Mitch's head connected to the hard stairs once more, in the same area as it previously had. The singer couldn't comprehend the pain, though, the darkness was dragging him down down down and soon he couldn't see or feel anything anymore.

And Mitch Grassi passed out.

* * *

Somebody was shaking him awake.

"Please, is my son okay? Why did you not call us sooner?" A woman's voice was saying speedily. Her voice was a strange comfort to him, and the light Italian accent that it carried was oddly firmiliar. Why was that so?

He struggled to open his eyes, because they seemed fused shut. After a moment or two, he succeeded, but instantly wished he hadn't once a bright light was shone directly in his eyes. His pupils painfully retracted, and he let out a frustrated groan.

"Who's there?" He croaked through his scratchy throat. "What's going on?"

"Oh, Mitchell!"

"Please, Mrs. Grassi, you've got to stand back. Your son is only just coming around and any sudden motion might not be in your or anybody's best interest." A new voice said calmly. It sounded masculine and deep. Since his sight was a bleary haze that didn't improve much when he blinked, he could only see a mushy fuzz of a person looming over him; said person smelled strongly of lemon soap and medicine.

 _I must be in a hospital._ He blinked faster now, willing his vision to restore. _Why am I in a hospital?! And who the hell is Mitchell?_

It took several moments to fully awaken, but even after he did, the view before him was no comfort. He was laying in a white hospital bed with thin white sheets wrapped around his legs, and was wearing an equally thin and equally white gown that he could feel brushing the bottom of his knees. An IV was in his arm, along with several other particular fluids, and whenever he moved his head the back of his brain gave a horrible throb.

Sitting next to him was a man who was dressed in a long doctors coat, and beside this man was a woman he immediately recognized as his mother. Her tan face was red and full of worry.

"Mom?" He said. The woman nodded and smiled. "What am I doing here?" He shifted restlessly in his place, starting to sit up, yet the doctor pushed him back into the firm bed when he tried. Frowning, he asked, "What's going on? Why am I in a hospital?"

"You fell, honey. You fell down the stairs." His mother said, her voice trembling.

"I did?" He asked. His tone transformed from more than slightly irritated to confused. "I...when? Why?"

The doctor cleared his throat subtly. "You were brought in about two and a half hours ago suffering from mild head trauma. There was an abrasion across the back of your head-" At these words, he lifted up a hand to feel the tight bandages he hadn't noticed a moment before. "-which was clean and bandaged. You'll be bale to take them off tomorrow. And..." The doctor trailed off, biting his lip in thought.

He raised an eyebrow. "And what?"

"Ah, it seems useless, but I should make sure your brain is functioning properly since your fall caused you to lose a less-than-normal amount of blood. I'll give you a basic test, and then you and your mother can see you way out after your vitals and other things are checked. Okay?"

He nodded.

The doctor stood up, walked to a plain table in the far corner, and picked up a clipboard. His mother smiled at him, and he smiled right back. This wasn't going to be hard. And after, life would return to normal.

Actually...what was normal? What did he do with his life?

He wracked his brain, trying to recall, but when a few seconds passed and he produced nothing he mentally cast his ponderings aside. He'd worry about that later.

"Alright. We're going to start easy." The doctor sat beside his patient once more, clicked a pen, and held it poised over the paper. "What's your name?"

He opened his mouth, ready to shoot a reply, yet nothing came to mind. Unsettled, he twisted his face and attempted to remember. Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. Twenty. White blankness was all he could pull up, along with a swift pained throb in his mind. This notion made him uncomfortable; his palms began to sweat and he wiped them on the blanket. He breathed shakily when the doctor gave a half concerned, half insisting look.

"Um..." He blinked rapidly. His mother was now staring at him as if she had just realized he had three heads. This didn't help at all. "S-Something that ends with Grassi, right?"

His mother brought one of her hands up to cover her mouth in shock. She sent the doctor a look that said person did not see. Instead, the doctor continued to watch his patient. "I need you to try and remember. What is your name?"

"I...I don't know." He said helplessly, glancing at his mom for support. "But my mother's last name is Grassi, so that must mean that my last name is Grassi too. Right?"

"Yes. But what's your first name?"

He honestly took a moment to try. He really, really did. He the growing pain in his head and focused on his mother's face, gritting his teeth when the pain stopped blossoming and began to pound.

Then-

"Mitchell!" He gasped, his eyes widening in surprise. "My name is Mitchell Grassi. But...but I go by..." He pushed the throbbing away, and as a reward for his difficult effort, his mind presented him with another answer. "Mitch. They call me Mitch."

The doctor was a very smart man, one whom had much training and instruction. He knew what the pained expression on his patients face meant, and why he was forgetting something as simple as his name. what he could not figure out was why this small man could recognize his own mother before remembering himself.

"Which hand is your dominant hand, Mitchell?"

Mitch took only an instant to reply. "My left."

"What color are your eyes and hair?"

"Brown and brown."

"Just one more question-" It was evident that Mitch had not forgotten much about himself. It was his name that had evaded him for a short while. "-do you wear glasses or contacts?"

"Yup." The brunette had the nagging feeling that there was a pair of glasses sitting on his nightstand that awaited him at home. Where ever home was, that is. He could feel contacts in his eyes when he blinked.

"Alright." The doctor scribbled something on his clipboard. "I have a few more questions, if you don't mind."

Mitch _did_ mind. He didn't want to feel the pounding of his head again. Nevertheless, there was a part of him that was protesting that he needed to be asked these questions. They would determine if he was okay. So he endured the ordeal.

It wasn't too bad. Most of the inquiry's the doctor shot at the smaller man he already knew the answer to; how old was he, what did his car look like, what were the names of his family members, where did he grow up, where was his apartment. There were a few that puzzled him, though; who did he share his apartment with? What did he do for a living? What happened during his accident? What was he doing before his accident?

What were the names of his friends?

Mitch's heart sank as the number of questions he couldn't answer grew and grew. He felt as if he was failing an important test, and judging by the distraught look decorating his mother's face, he was failing very, very badly. The doctor seemed to notice this. He stopped pestering his patient and instead focused on reassuring him and explaining what was to happen next.

Mitch was going to be let out of the hospital after his bandages were changed. The doctor told him that things were going to be strange, that people he thought he'd never seen before would walk up to him and act as if they'd known him for years. He was suffering from a weird kind of memory loss, and the name of it was so long and carried so many silent letters that the small man didn't attempt to store it away to talk about later.

The doctor mentioned that he would experience the occasional headache, but nothing more. Mitch told the doctor in a quiet voice of the throb in his mind when he tried to draw forth a memory. In response, the doctor nodded, and told his patient that if the pain became a constant problem then he was to come back to the hospital. Okay?

 _Okay._ Mitch thought. _You're telling me that I'm going to be living a life I never knew about, that I can't remember who I was, that my old and current lives are ruined, and all you say is okay?_ Fire bloomed in the back of the brunette's head again. He grimaced.

 _Because doctor-man, I sure as hell don't feel okay._

* * *

Sitting beside the brown-haired girl was hard enough, but the fact that she was in tears and also making half-hearted conversation was quickly turning the situation from awkward to really strange.

Mitch's mom had told him that she had needed to get back to work. So, once his bandages had been changed, she kissed him on the forehead goodbye, his mother had called up a girl that Mitch was apparently friends with. _Her name is Kirstin,_ his mother had said.

 _You mean Kirstie?_ Mitch had replied without thinking. A second later, a sharp pain shot down his skull and he barely refrained from wincing. At the moment, though, the pain was worth it; something lit up in his mom's eyes as she grinned and confirmed his statement. He had sighed and smiled a bit. Yeah, remembering shit hurt, but at least he could make his mom happy by doing so.

Perhaps he could make himself happy along the way as well.

But the brunette shoved the thought behind his brain, all the way past the source of the pain in his head and to the dark forgetful abyss that was his mind. He was here to figure out who he was. This wasn't some motherfucking Disney princess tale and he wasn't out to search for a prince and a happy ending.

As he had waited for this Kirstie-girl to pick him up, his ADD mind started to race and dance in circles despite it's dull aching. The prospect got him thinking; what Disney princess would he be?

 _I don't think I would be a princess._ Mitch mused as a car pulled up right next to him on the curb. _I'd be a queen. Probably Maleficent._

The car window rolled down, and a girl with long brown hair that was curled at the ends with koal-lined eyes gazed at him from the drivers seat. She looked vaugely firmiliar, so naturally Mitch asked, "Who are you?"

Her shoulders, clad in a teal jacket, immediately fell. Her face, concealed in a careful mask, broke a little and showed dismay. "I'm Kirstin." She said like the words were choking her. "But you can call me Kirstie."

The other brunette lifted an eyebrow. "You're the one my mom told me about."

"Yeah, she called me." Kirstin blinked away tears that were already gathering in her eyes. God, if she was about to burst out into sobs without getting a sentence into a conversation with her forgotten best friend, the mezzo was frightened to think of Scott's reaction. The blonde had been startled and worried, wishing to rush to his best friends aid at once. Kirstie had assured him (she was the one to find Mitch sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with blood gushing out of his head; her baritone friend had had to stay at the gig they had been postponing for forever, and if he hadn't, the response from the press would've been worse than worse) that Mitch hadn't died and had instructed him to meet her at the street corner of her favorite cafe.

Speaking of which, the pair were going to be late if Mitch didn't get his skinny ass into the damn car. Kirstin opened her mouth to tell him so, before catching herself. This newer version of Mitch knew nothing of their usual playful banter. He'd take it as rude.

Instead she said, "Mind coming with me? I need to take you to your-" She caught herself again. "-er, one of my best friends so he can take you to your apartment."

Mitch opened the passenger door and stepped into the car smoothly. The movement was so similar to the way the previous Mitch would've done the same thing made the mezzo turn her head away and bli rapidly. Already she missed him. And he was sitting next to her.

How was that possible?

Following his pickup, Kirstie proceeded to fill Mitch in on the details as she drove; there was some guy named Scott who was going to take him home after they met up and talked for a bit in front of her favorite coffee place. The short male inquired who Scott was (the name rang a painful bell), but the mezzo just smiled a watery smile and replied that he would meet him soon.

This was the part of the ride that Mitch felt awkward. This girl he barely knew was practically sobbing into her sleeve so he wouldn't notice, and he was just sitting there wondering what the fuck he did to make her cry. Guilt settled on his shoulders.

A few moments passed. Kirstie got ahold of herself, wishing and wishing and wishing Mitch would come back and talk to her and laugh with her or sing a song with her.

 _Wait a damn minute. Sing a song._

 _Shit! Why hasn't she thought of this before?_

Suddenly (so suddenly that it nearly gave Mitch a heart attack), the mezzo soprano slammed the radio to life, dug around her purse (swerving in the middle of the road and almost killing both of them) for her phone, and hit a select number of buttons.

Then she pressed play, and waited.

Mitch's high-pitched, clear voice began singing form all corners of the car. The real-life Motch gasped, holding a hand to his heart and allowing his eyes to widen in wonder as he heard his own voice form words that he couldn't remember making it form.

 _Do you recall that long ago_

 _We would walk on the sidewalk_

 _In a sense, remember_

 _All we did was care for each other_

Kirstie joined in at this part softly, congratulating herself on her song choice.

 _But the night was warm_

 _We were bold and young_

 _All around, the wind blows_

 _We would only hold on to let go_

Just as quickly as Kirstie brought the radio to life, Mitch reached a hand and turned the volume all the way to mute. Disappointed, the mezzo glanced at her best friend with a sorrow in her gaze, but the sorrow morphed into something new when she found him clutching both sides of his head in pain but grinning widely with tears in his eyes as well.

" _Blow a kiss. Fire a gun. We need someone to lean on._ " He sang countertenor-high, his voice even more beautiful in person than on the crappy car radio. " _Blow a kiss. Fire a gun. All we need is somebody to lean on!_ "

The two then sang the chorus as loudly as they could, the _eh oh eh oh, eh oh ooh way-o_ , until Kirstie eventually put the car in park as they had arrived at the cafe. By the end of it, they were both out of breath and in tears.

Only Mitch didn't know why. He didn't know why he had sung the song on the radio, or who the four other voices joining him belonged to. Who were they?

He was going to find out soon enough.

* * *

Kirstie stayed in the car, for some bizarre-ass reason. The prospect made Mitch feel oddly vulnerable, and strangely naked. Not naked as in no clothes on, but naked as in exposed with not protection.

The reason he felt as easy to read as a book was because of the way that Scott was staring at him. His blue eyes bored into Mitch's dark brown ones, captivating and interesting. And, pathetically enough, despite not really knowing a single fucking thing about the tall blonde standing a foot away from him, the brunette had the inclination to run over and hug him tightly.

These things had been happening ever since Scott had walked close enough to his other half that they could seize each other up.

The staring and seizing continued until the blonde broke the silence.

"Hi." That was the first word that exited Scott's mouth. "I...um..." The baritone wore an unsure expression, and looked as if he wanted to take a step forward. He took a deep, unsettled breath and ignored the chill of the early fall wind of the outside.

"I'm Scott." He said without offering his hand to shake. He did pause for Mitch to introduce himself in return.

"I-I'm Mitch." The brunette returned almost shyly. He felt the same way he had in the hospital room, as if he was about to fail a huge test he wasn't able to study for. The brunette was highly aware of Kirstin sitting in her car, watching them, just a few feet away.

Scott's deep voice sounded. "And together we are..." He trailed off, as if he expected Mitch to finish the phrase.

"Um." The countertenor bit his lip. His hands came up in a _um-I-dunno-if-this-is-right-but-what-the-hell-I'll-say-it-anyway_ kind of gesture. "Scott and Mitch?"

It was then that the baritone's breath caught in his throat and he realized, oh, no. Mitch really had forgotten. Yeah, he had partially believed Kirstie when she had explained the story and situation to him, but he honestly had to see and hear for himself if the old Mitch was really gone. And judging by the confused-as-hell look his best friend was giving him, he really was.

He really couldn't remember Scott.

The blonde's eyes gathered unwilling tears and he blinked rapidly. He could not accept this. No. Not Mitch. All of their years of friendship, erased like they were words on a page drawn by a pencil.

"Sor-" Scott barely held himself together. He paused to clear his throat roughly. "Sorry I asked. I thought-"

"-maybe I'd remember." Mitch finished, trying not to let his puzzled expression show but utterly failing. The throbbing in his head and become more pronounced as the moments ticked on. The countertenor noticed that it was because Scott was standing so close to him, and the baritone was emitting an air that was yanking around Mitch's thoughts in a strange, strange way. "Um...Kirstie said that you'd be taking me home."

 _Wherever home is. Hopefully this guy isn't going to kill me or some shit like in the movies._

The taller man nodded. "Then should we go? It's been a long day for you, Mitchie. Your mom sent me a note from the doctor saying that you have to take a few pain pills and then go to sleep." He gestured for Mitch to follow him to his car. For the second time that day, the brunette trudged along the sidewalk before finally climbing into another car. This ride, unlike when he rode with Kirstie, was silent and without his own voice blaring through the speakers.

Scott just clutched the steering wheel and said nothing.

Mitch didn't know it (and it seemed like he never would), but his best friends life was falling apart.

Besides the silence, there was one other weird part of the drive: Scott had accidentally made a left turn instead of a right, and as he was turning around to fix his mistake, Mitch said, "You turned the wrong way."

"How did you know that?"

The smaller man's brain was on fire with pain. "I-I don't know. I just know."

The pair reached the apartment (that looked vaugely familiar to the brunette, as everything seemed to) soon, and once they stepped inside of the place, Scott instructed Mitch to go to sleep immediately after taking pain pills.

Feeling as if being bossed around was a normal occurrence, Mitch did as he was told and groped around his pockets for the bottle. He searched for a solid minute.

Scott smiled widely despite himself, held up the tiny container, and shook the pills inside.

* * *

In the middle of the night, as Mitch Grassi slept, his brain kicked into overdrive. The pain pills were not enough to stop the liquid burn seeping though his mind, and he grimaced in his sleep. His arms flailed and his ankles twisted. His pale skin showed an array of sweat.

He jostled around so much, in fact, that his head snapped against his beds headboard with a _thud_ sound. The hit was taken on the exact same spot his head was battered badly and the muffled blow sent shockwaves throughout his system. His muscles loosened, locked, tightened, cinched, relaxed. They couldn't decide.

His brain couldn't decide. Remember, or live a new life?

Torturous minutes passed. If Mitch had been fully awake, he would've screamed at the pain. Luckily, he was only half conscious, so the pain was intense but bearable. His body shuddered and coiled and then-

As soon as it had begun, Mitch's episode ended. He settled back into the bed with a quiet sigh, unaware that everything had changed once more.

* * *

"What's my name?"

"Scott Hoying." Mitch answered, yawning.

"How long have we been friends for?"

The brunette stretched like Wyatt would after a long nap and shrugged his shoulders at Scott's excited tone. He sipped the hot coffee that steamed from his mug. Playfully kissing the blonde's cheek, he wandered into the living room to see I pf there was anything good on TV. "Thirteen years, silly."

"What's the name of our band and what position are you?"

"Why do I have to keep answering questions that I already know the answers to?"

The blonde grinned. "No reason, Mitchie. No reason at all. But you migh want to call Kirstie and tell her you got your memory back."

"I lost my memory?"

"Yeah."

"Shit. I must've given her a panic attack. She's going to kill me."

"Or make you buy her coffee for the crap you unintentially put her through."

"Sometimes I can't decide which one is worse, babe."


	14. Wyatt Blue

**Hiya, my readers! I am so crazy insane off of my usual schedule it's not even funny, but I'm crossing my fingers that this chapter will make up for it. I feel like the last one ( _And Together We Are_ ) was a little abrupt in the ending, so I've decided that soon I'll be re-writing it for you guys (but it'll still have the same plot, and much of the beginning will be the same as well). **

**I am praying that my life will let me finish a good chapter for you guys soon so I can get back on schedule, so I'm writing constantly. These next chapters are gonna contain some surprises!**

 **But enough about all that posh and onto the summary; This story tells of Mitch and Scott's journey to go get their cat, Wyatt Blue. It includes songs about sex, boring-ass car rides, and lots of gluten. Like, lots and lots of gluten. Short, fluffy, and sweet.**

 **The lyrics below are from _S &M _by Rhianna and _She Wolf_ by Shakira. Disclaimer!**

 **That's it for now, my fellow Scomiche shippers! Happy reading!**

* * *

Grabbing a cold container of pasta from the fridge, Mitch was torn between shoving down his face or setting it aside so he could pull on jeans. He wasted a moment debating before decidedly plucking a fork from the silverware drawer, taking a few hurried bites, and then bringing it with him as he rushed to his bedroom.

After searching his cluttered floor (which carried several pieces of clothing, a few empty water bottles, and a single Snickers chocolate wrapper. Other than that, it was pretty tidy), turning his mattress inside-out, and eating more noodles, the brunette frustratedly called, "SCOTT!"

There was an abrupt bang from the room across the hall. A deeper voice responded, "What!"

"Where did you put my pants?" Mitch shouted, gulping more food and resuming his search. To put it lightly, the pair had been having some fun the previous night that had involved a lot of the removal of clothing. It has been a pleasent blur of sweat, love, and blonde hair. However, the price was the absence of suitable bottoms.

Scott and Mitch couldn't be late. Especially today, of all days.

But the countertenor was not going to go out without pants on.

Please. Queen had more class than that.

A second later, Scott Hoying himself appeared in the doorway with his eyes a strong blue and his face tired and excited at the same time. His gaze swept across the room quickly (lingering on his boyfriend, who was standing around without pants on. And shit, the view was _distracting_ ) before he blinked. "Um...your pants?"

"Yeah." The countertenor gestured wildly. "When we were doing our thing last night. Where did you throw my pants?"

The blonde was not ashamed to say that he couldn't recall. How was he supposed to? His memory was so terrible that he could barely think of yesterday, let alone a detail that was as minor as missing pants. Especially while the loss of those pants had occurred during a time he had been highly occupied.

"Can't you wear dirty ones or something, Mitch? We have to leave in ten minutes." Scott watched as his partner opened his mouth to argue. He never got the chance, because the baritone suddenly lunged forward to snatch the container of pasta out of the smaller mans hands.

"Hey!" Mitch protested. He tried to grab for his dinner. "What the hell!"

"You're eating noodles, Mitch!" Scott said back quickly. Keeping the food held high, he continued. "Hello? You are eating _noodles!_ "

The brunette gave a look that was somewhere between _what-the-literal-fuck_ and _have-you-suffered-any-head-trauma recently-because-you-might-be-an-utter-idiot_. "No, really. I thought I was eating strawberry pound cake!" He threw his arms up in incredibility. "They just looked so alike, I couldn't tell which was which!"

Scott rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's usual sass. "Mitch. You're eating pasta and pasta has gluten in it."

"So?"

"You're going to get sick, maybe?"

Mitch's expression transformed into a _why-are-you-telling-me-something-I-already-know_ with a little _you're-wasting-our-time-let-me-eat-my-damned-food_. "I don't care. I'm hungry and I want to scarf gluten."

With a sigh, the man with blue eyes handed back the container that was eagerly plucked from his grip. Sure, Mitch couldn't eat gluten, but that didn't mean he was going to necessarily follow that medical rule if said food containing gluten tasted good.

"Find my pants for me." The brunette ordered. He hesitated, his fork halfway to his mouth, and then added in a less demanding tone, "Please?"

Scott grinned slightly and nodded. Mitch grabbed him by the collar of his button-up to give him a brain-numbing kiss. That made the baritone instantly forgive the fact that his boyfriend was making himself sick over a few carbs. It wouldn't hurt to let him eat gluten once in every while.

Pulling away, the countertenor smiled. "Thanks, babe."

The blonde swiftly pecked his counterpart on the nose with a simple, "No problem." He spent the next five minutes re-turning Mitch's room rightside-up until his fingers finally gripped a certain rough fabric. He straightened from his position of kneeling under a desk, and handed the article of clothing to its owner, who, when he saw it, held back a squeal and ran out of the room to the bathroom with them.

Scott restrained a sigh of acceptance. Despite seeing each other naked the night before (and the night before that, and the night before that, and the morning before that...) and standing in front of the baritone in nothing but a shirt and underwear, Mitch still felt the need to exit the room to put on clothes. It was like a private ritual.

Slipping a hand in the pocket of his own jeans, the tall man checked the time. He and Mitch were going to have to leave soon, because the damned animal center was an hour and a half away and the evening rush hour was going to begin soon.

"Ready, Mitchie?" Scott walked out of his partners bedroom, past the kitchen, and grabbed his glasses from where he had set them on the coffee table.

The countertenor reappeared a second later, now with the proper amount of clothes on and his container of pasta empty. He ran to the kitchen sink, dumped the fork and container in it, and ran to the couch where his shoes awaited him. Scott, seeing an opportunity, took out his phone again and started to video. This was an experience that he knew they would both what to remember later.

"What are we about to do?" The blonde asked as Mitch pulled on his shoes.

Noticing that his boyfriend was now filming him (and praising the dear sweet Lord that he now was wearing suitable jeans), the brunette let a grin pull across his face as he answered, "We're getting our kitty!" He paused, looking down at his laces to make sure he was tying them correctly and not in some weird-ass jellyfish net knot, if there was such a thing. "And Mommy is excited."

"Yeah?" Scott grinned again as memory after memory of Mitch babbling to his best friend about getting a hairless sphynx cat. Of course, they could've gotten any pet, but Mitch had been wanting a cat for forever, and since the baritone was allergic to said animal, hairless was the route they had to go.

"Yes. She is." The brunette smiled.

"You've literally been waiting since you were eight to get a sphynx cat."

"Literally since I was an _infant_ born." Mitch corrected. He was unable to think of a time he hadn't wanted a sphynx cat.

Scott paused the video. "Alright, that's good for now. We need this footage for Superfruit later."

"Oh my god, you're right." Heaving himself from the couch, Mitch stood on his tippy-toes and pressed his lips to his boyfriends. "He is going to be in every episode, I bet."

The blonde showed his agreement by pressing his forehead to the other singer's. "Let's go get our cat."

* * *

There wasn't just traffic.

There wasn't just a lot of traffic.

There was an _effing shit-ton_ of traffic.

"I'm so bored." Mitch complained to nobody after he had sat in the car for forty-five minutes and they had not yet arrived at the pet center. The sky was beginning to darken and warp into a dull grayish color. The hint of exhaust smoke hung in the air, and after a while it bothered the blonde so much that he rolled up the windows.

Another ten minutes passed. The car had moved about seven yards.

Scott felt like slamming his head down on the steering wheel and keeping it there. For one, he was as bored as Mitch. But two, he had ADD and his brain was starting to kick, whirl, and race without his permission. A second later, his knee began to bounce.

"How close are we, babe?" The brunette pressed. He shrugged out of the black jacket he had brought with him and tossed it in the backseat. His boyfriend blew an irritated huff of air though his nose.

"We're about halfway there." He replied in a voice as dry as parched grass.

Holding back the urge to groan in dismay, Mitch settled for slapping his knee casually (a gesture that he always did when he was either bored or had nervous energy and nothing to do with his hands) a few times. This went on for another fifteen minutes as the car crawled forward; soon Scott reached and held the hand the countertenor was using to hit his leg with, and in retaliation the smaller man placed his available fingers on the baritone's jittering knee.

Scott huffed again. He needed to stimulate his mind somehow or else he was going to go bonkers. Since he was pretty sure Mitch would turn him down if he proposed car sex (they almost did it once...and then they honked the horn...like a lot...and it kind of ruined the mood) and making love in the middle of traffic isn't the most convinent activity on the planet, he said, "Music?"

"Yes please." The words came instantly. It forced Scott to remember that he wasn't the only one who had trouble keeping occupied.

The radio clicked on.

 _I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it_

 _Sex in the air, I don't care_

 _I love the smell of it_

 _Sticks and stones may break my bones but_

 _Chains and whips-_

"What the-" Mitch shot the blonde a questioning look when the taller man hurriedly switched the station. Oh, hell no, Scott was not going to listen to a song about sex while having the morning he had had and thinking of said sport not a minute before. Add the fact that Mitch was less than five inches away and-

No. Just, no.

 _Moon's awake now_

 _With eyes wide open_

 _My body's craving_

 _So feed the hungry_

 _I've been devoting myself to you_

 _Monday to Monday and Friday to Friday_

 _Not getting enough retribution_

 _Or decent incentives to keep me at it_

 _Starting to feel just a little abuse_

 _Like a coffee machine in an-_

"Scott, if you're going to change the song every ten seconds, then we shouldn't listen to music." The countertenor raised an eyebrow at Scott, who was sending the radio a glare. We're there any songs _not about sex_ on the radio today?

Finally, _Timber_ came on. Something not as bad as _S &M_, at least. Less about provocativeness and more about partying. The blonde would take that.

The traffic didn't let up for many more minutes. During that time, the pair had mini dance parties in their car to music, kept each other laughing and talking, and generally had a good time despite the vehicle moving slower than molasses and feeling tired and worn out.

And thank the Lord, they made it. The giant sign and arrow pointing to the pet store entrance waved to them eagerly. As the baritone parked the car, Mitch was excitedly whisper-yelling and grabbing onto the door handle as if he couldn't wait to leap into the parking lot.

"C'mon!" He insisted. It felt like Scott was taking his sweet time putting the car in park. "Get your shit together and park the damn thing! My child awaits!"

"Says the man who forgot where his pants were this afternoon."

Valid point.

"And who ate gluten when he wasn't supposed to." Scott added, slamming the door shut and taking the brunette's hand. At the reminder, Mitch's stomach gave a twist. He scowled. He was going to have to pay for eating that pasta.

Yet, it was another valid point.

Entertwining their fingers tightly, the blonde opened the door for them and they stepped inside. Immediately, the smell of dogs and cats and other unknown animals assaulted their nostrils. Scott paused, also halting Mitch, waiting as his nose started to tingle.

"Oh, n-" The singer's face contorted as he sneezed. "Ugh. Cats." Already he sounded congested. He let loose another powerful sneeze, and sniffed heartily afterwards. This was going to have to be quick.

And it was. Faster than a blink, their tiny sphynx kitten was settled in Mitch's arms, handed to the shorter man wrapped in a checkered blanket. He meowed softly, staring at his owners with bold pale green eyes. He was a smart one, Scott could just tell.

"He's perfect." Mitch breathed, using a single finger to pet the kitty's head as gently as possible. "And he's literally the cutest thing I've ever seen. Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening."

Scott was not only glad that his boyfriend was happy, but he was pleased that he didn't sneeze as much around their new kitten (due to his hairlessness). "Aw, look at his little tail."

The brunette covered his face with one hand. "He is so amazing, I can't even talk about it right now. I can't believe I'm holding a sphynx cat." He smiled, holding back tears, and gave the cat to the blonde so he could pet him. The kitten purred in response, nuzzling Scott's fingers and causing his palm to vibrate.

"We should take our first picture with him right now." The baritone suggested, returning the kitty to his partners hands to he could get his phone out. Giggling, the countertenor held the cat to his cheek in a silly pose and his face broke into a joyous grin as his eyes watered even further.

Holding the phone high, the taller man's expression went from almost-crying to smiling-while-almost-crying. The kitten looked right at the camera, as if he knew he was being watched by someone other than his owners.

The precise moment he clicked the button that would capture the moment forever, Scott said in a thick voice, "Hiya, Wyatt Blue Grassi-Hoying. Welcome to the family."


	15. Three Days Alone

**I'm crawling towards my regular schedule. Slowly, but surely, I'm doing it.**

 **This oneshot is the longest by far, which is why it took me longer to write. I am _so_ satisfied with it and it was a blast to write. I really hope you guys enjoy it!**

 **The summary; Mitch has decided that he's going to take a mini vacation to Texas for a weekend, just to escape his insane-ass life. But Scott leaves him with something to think about while he's away: an unexpected kiss. So does this mean that they're still best friends? Or was Scott giving him a kiss just to mess with him?**

 **The lyrics below are from _Cracked,_ by Pentatonix, so disclaimer!**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Mitch's Depart: Both POV's**

"Take me with you." Scott begged. He made wounded puppy dog eyes that his best friend had grown immune to long ago.

Mitch gave a strained half-smile as he balanced his suitcase on his lap. It was damn heavy, so heavy he would put down money that he was going to be sore later. "Babe, you know that if I could fit you into the suitcase I would. You're too big."

Kevin rolled his eyes. Struggling against his seatbelt, he twisted around in the passenger seat to send his two friends a skeptical look. "It's not that bad, Scott. Mitch is only going to be gone for three days. Haven't you guys ever been apart before?"

The blonde stared out the window, thinking. The brunette copied him. Neither could remember a time in which they hadn't been together for more than a few hours; when they were touring they always shared a room, they went pretty much everywhere together, and they lived together. They were joined at the hip.

"Um..." Mitch bit his lip and glanced at the baritone, who only shrugged. "Not for more than five or six hours."

Scott wagged his eyebrows flirtily. "We're _always_ together, Mitchie."

"You're _so_ right, babe." The countertenor blew his best friend a kiss and grinned.

Avi, who had offered to drive to the airport, rolled his eyes knowing the pair couldn't see him. "It's only, what, seventy two hours? You guys will be fine."

"NO WE WON'T!" Scott shrieked, overly-dramatic. He reached forward and gripped the bass's checkered T-shirt, clutching it tightly, before Avi managed to tear his eyes away from the busy road and swat the baritone's hand off of him.

"Scott, would you calm down?" Avi said, his deep voice annoyed, even though he was grinning at his friend's antics. "You guys can always call each other or FaceTime or something."

The only blue-eyed person in the car shook his head. "It won't be the same thing." Suddenly, his expression softened. He glanced at the small man sitting across from him, who was cursing under his breath and shifting his heavy bag along his knees. How was Scott supposed to go three entire days without his favorite brunette? He honestly couldn't picture it; that's how huge a part of his life Mitch was. The prospect of going without him was like the prospect of going without oxygen.

Alright, maybe not oxygen. But something else seriously important.

"We'll be there in ten minutes, you guys. Scott, unless you're walking Mitch in, you guys should do your whole best-friend-saying-goodbye ritual." Avi said to cut the thick silence (save the countertenor's continuous cussing at his bag. This stopped after the statement was made).

Despite Avi's jab, Mitch and Scott really did want to take some time to bid each other farewell, yet the baritone spoke up before anything could happen. "I'm walking in with him. Kevin-" The beatboxer gave his attention. "-you and Avi stay in the car."

"Ah." The bassist nodded in an all-knowing way. After a moment, he added despairingly, "They wish for their ritual to be in private, Kev. We won't get to watch." Kevin barely restrained a guffaw.

Mitch's face was tomato red, and Scott's neck had lit up a hue of pink. "If you guys wanted us to have sex in front of you, all you had to do was say so." The small brunette spoke up.

The blonde laughed when he saw the horrified looks on Kevin and Avi's faces. "That's your idea of a farewell ritual, Mitchie?"

"Why not?" Mitch asked with true confusion mixed with amusement. That made Scott laugh harder, his wheezing soundless laugh, before he finally calmed down.

The next few minutes were spent in teasing conversation, one filled with taunts and more giggles, until at last Avi had to stop it all and announce, "We're here, guys. Get out of my car if you want to make out."

There was just something about the way Avi said things sometimes in his deep voice that made Mitch wonder whether or not he was serious or kidding.

Nonetheless, the indecision didn't stop the brown-eyed man from countering with, "And don't you and Kevin do dirty stuff in here while I'm gone! Because that would be a _shame_." As the two sputtered and protested with "Hey!" and "You should talk!" before Mitch gestured at Scott to accompany him and the best friends exited Avi's vehicle.

They walked through the doors of the airport and were instantly greeted by familiar sounds: people rushing about, talking on their phones, catching planes that left at this time of the evening. The scent of strange but normal stagnant-ness swirled around Mitch, who lugged his rolling suitcase towards the airport service line. However, Scott read his best friend's actions wrong, and the countertenor abruptly turned and stopped on a rare empty spot of white tile he had found in the middle of the bedlam.

"My plane leaves in twenty minutes." He said in his clear voice, which Scott somehow managed to hear over the noise surrounding them. Setting his bag beside him, Mitch pointed to a section of the airport that was blocked off. The special waiting area. "But they won't let you sit there with me."

Scott's shoulder's sagged. He sighed, staring at his best friend's dark brown eyes and felt heat curl around his heart. "So...you're gonna be gone a whole weekend."

"Just three days, Scott." The brunette assured him, reaching a hand out to smooth a wrinkle on Scott's shirt. His touch left scorching heat in its wake. "I'll be gone three days. You'll-" His breath caught, as he realized, that _wow,_ he was going three whole days without Scott. "You'll be okay. Like you always are."

"But I'll miss you."

Mitch smiled softly, secretly enjoying the moment of intimacy passing between them. "I'll miss you too. But you know it's been forever since I've seen my family and friends back home. And Sparrow is in the hospital, I need to visit him."

There was quiet then. Not quiet as in the entire airport shushed; children and adults still bustled around and took no care. It was quiet in the bubble that encased the two, the bubble that had followed them since the day they had met and made it seem like there was nobody else in the world that could interrupt them.

The taller man couldn't take it anymore. His wild energy and ADD impulse was what made him pull his best friend to him in a tight hug. Mitch rested his chin on the blonde's broad shoulder, participating with equal enthusiasm. They stayed locked in their secure embrace for what felt like forever until the tiny brunette had to force himself to let go.

Surprisingly, when Mitch tried to detangle himself from Scott's arms, he found that he couldn't. This was alarmingly odd. It soon hit him that the baritone was still clinging to him, but had released Mitch enough so that the countertenor was still in close proximity and could give a questioning look.

Blue eyes glinting in the fluorescent light, the blonde bit his lip for a second, in the middle of an internal battle, and then he leaned down and pressed their lips together.

Mitch was startled, but once a moment passed he let the warm mouth of his best friend (were they still best friends now? Did best friend's kiss each other?) guide his mind to a place that was full of pleasant thoughts. Fingers were finding their way to the countertenor's waist. He used his thin hands and gripped the collar of Scott's button-up, urging him closer and to _please_ give him more of that tongue that tasted like sugar and coffee and mint and _oh god_ do that thing with his lips again and _dear Lord what the fuck was going on but dammit this felt good_ -

They separated with a dramatic intake of air. Mitch realized that he was still hanging onto Scott like his life depended on it, hesitated, and carefully peeled their bodies apart. This time the blonde let him. He stepped away a little, his previously dizzy brain now filling with doubt and puzzlement and repetitive screams of _WHAT THE HELL GRASSI, WHAT THE HELL._ Mitch slowly reached for his belongings, holding the travel suitcase-thing in an unsure grip.

Scott looked shocked, at his own actions or at Mitch, the brunette didn't know. The baritone licked his lips, staring at his best friend, and said quietly, "Be safe."

"I-I will." For a strange reason, the countertenor was a little embarrassed that he sounded so winded. Scott didn't seem to be effected in any way. The only evidence that they had done anything was the crooked position of the taller man's shirt collar.

Without saying anything else, Scott nodded and walked away, disappearing in the huge crowd of people and leaving Mitch alone. As he stood there dumbfounded, all Mitch could think was, _At least we were out of Avi's car when we made out._

* * *

 **Day 1: Scott's POV**

Scott now sympathized with people whom had gone through withdrawal.

The singer rubbed his eyes tiredly, set down his pencil, and took a sip of the steaming cup of tea he made. It was honey flavored and tasted amazing. Almost as amazing as Mitch's lips.

 _Shut up, Hoying. What you did yesterday was stupid and horrible and you messed with your best friend. You are NOT ALLOWED to think about him!_

Rolling his eyes a his own thoughts (which, despite reprimanding him, had spent all of last night and all of the current morning thinking about the countertenor), Scott wrapped the thick blanket tighter around himself and picked up his writing pad, attempting to focus. He had thought that while Mitch was absent, he'd finally be able to get some work done because a certain tiny body wouldn't be offering any distraction.

Nope.

He had read somewhere that people whom were addicted to drugs that wanted to stop went through a terrible withdrawal process; the body shook, shivered, purged, sweated, and generally felt like shit. Though he had never used a substance in his life and planned never to do so, from the second he had woken up Scott's body felt horrible. There was nothing wrong with him, of course; his entire being just craved something that he couldn't have. In this case, it was a person.

Cocaine and heroin were beginning to resemble this person's presence, a presence the blonde had spent a long time around.

Good _god_ , he was going nuts. Really? Comparing Mitch to _drugs_? Ugh. He needed to forget about the man that he had kissed for the time being. Then maybe he'd finish the words to these damned song lyrics.

Scott grabbed his phone from where it sat next to him and tapped a playlist. Beyoncé began to spill from the speakers. He searched around for his black ear buds, finding them and plugging them in. He then set the volume on low, took a drink of tea (the taste still reminded him of Mitch's hot little mouth- _DAMMIT_ ), and decidedly set his pencil against the paper.

An hour passed in normality (or as normal as Scott's morning could be without his best friend sitting on the loveseat next to him); the silence unbroken save for the audible scratch of granite. The quiet was halted when the blonde's music faded and proceeded to ring like a telephone. The blue-eyed man debated not answering, because his page was full of words and ideas and lyrics and he didn't want to stop, but a check of the caller ID made him decide against it.

"What's up, Avi?"

" _Hey, Scott._ " The bassist's deep voice could sooth anyone's nerves; the baritone was no exception. " _I'm driving around with Kevin and he's craving coffee. Want to get some breakfast?_ "

Scott sighed. All he had had was a single cup of tea, and it was only nine in the morning. Maybe he'd get some scones or something. And talk to his friends about what had happened. He trusted them not to babble the info to the wrong ears. "Yeah. Food sounds good. Pick me up in fifteen?"

" _Sure. See you._ " Avi hung up.

Ridding himself of the blanket he was wearing, the singer snapped his songbook shut and brought it with him as he walked to his bedroom. It was right beside Mitch's, and for the first time in a long time, said room was vacant. Scott ignored the pang in his stomach and got ready; brushing his teeth, changing from mere sweats into jeans, a nice shirt, and a light jacket, and combing his hair. He had just finished putting his contacts in when the doorbell rang.

He nodded at his nervous-looking reflection and dashed to the door. Kevin stood before him once he had opened it, smiling in greeting.

"Wassup, my man." Kevin said very bro-like. He did this to tease Scott, since he knew the blonde was very un-bro-like, and the baritone furrowed his eyebrows as a means of responding.

"Whatever, _Kev._ " Scott smirked at the bass's nickname for the beatboxer. "Let's go eat. And I have to talk to you and Avi." He closed the door to the apartment he shared and locked it.

"About what?" Kevin asked, gesturing for his friend to walk next to him as they made their way down the hall and to the stairs.

The pair climbed down swiftly, knowing that the bass would have no patience with them if they dawdled. "I'll tell you when we get there."

Soon, the trio were driving to the café Kevin favored so much, one tucked in the corner of the street that was gaining popularity. All the way there, Kevin tried to get Scott to tell him what he had on his mind, but the blue-eyed man only shook his head and remained tight-lipped. They arrived within ten minutes, and made their way inside the space.

Avi ordered two vanilla mochas and two blueberry muffins. Scott pulled out three dollars in exchange for some banana bread. Once they were handed their food, the three picked a booth colored a neutral caramel (not because of its color, but for its privacy) and dove right in.

"Out with it." Kevin claimed barely a second after they had settled. The baritone froze with his banana bread halfway to his mouth. He noticed that his friend wasn't going to let him eat in peace unless he spilled, so he set his breakfast on his napkin. The bearded man sitting across from him raised a prompting eyebrow.

"You guys remember how Avi said 'get out of my car if you want to make out' to Mitch and I yesterday?" Scott began. Avi and Kevin nodded, though the former did so with a grin as he recalled the taunt. The blonde took a deep breath. "Well..."

Nothing more had to be said. The vocal percussionists weren't as close to their friend as Kirstie or Mitch, but there were times where they could read him like an open book.

This was one of those times. And Kevin, who couldn't believe his luck, felt the need to broadcast this.

"OH MY GOD!" The beatboxer screamed, jumping out of the booth and pointing a shaky finger at the blonde, who had started at the sudden volume. "YOU KISSED HIM! YOU KISSED MITCH-"

"Would you calm down?" Scott hissed. The spectacle was attracting a lot of attention. Café-goers were peering over the edges of their plastic cups to see what this overexcited man was yelling about.

But honesty rang from Scott's eyes, and Kevin could not get it together for the life of him. Clearly, he was going into a state that bordered a panic attack. Or a seizure. "OH MY GOD! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS! AVI-"

Though the bass felt like hiding behind his muffin and pretending he had never seen Kevin in his life, he fought the particularly strong desire to do so and yanked his best friend into his seat.

The other brown-eyed man paid no attention to the exasperated glance Avi was shooting him and grinned widely. Scott rolled his eyes, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks. "Yes, I kissed Mitch, it's nothing to scream about! Damn, Kevin."

"So you really did? It's about time, Scott." The bearded man commented, taking a bite of his abandoned muffin.

The baritone saw that it was safe to eat and tentatively nibbled his food. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you and Mitch should've started dating like three or more years ago! We've been rooting for you-" Avi scored a well-aimed kick at Kevin under the table. "Ow! I mean...we're happy you guys finally got together on your own terms."

"We're not dating yet." Scott said with some bitterness. "It was only a kiss." He narrowed his eyes. "Do not sing _Mr. Brightside_ right now." Judging from the beatboxer's expression, that was what he'd been about to do.

The blonde answered their questions as the trio finished their meal and the conversation was searching; was it good, did Mitch kiss him back, how did he go about doing it, and shit, _what the hell were you thinking, Hoying?_

Maybe that last one he had directed at himself.

Avi wrapped up the mini-meeting with his final question. "So when are you going to tell Kirstie?"

"I was planning on telling her before I told you guys. But y'all invited me to breakfast, and I saw my chance..." The blue-eyed singer sighed. "D'you guys think he likes me?" It was such a ridiculous question to ask. They weren't in high school anymore, whispering away to each other about who was crushing on who while they huddled by open lockers.

"Duh." Kevin said, squinting at the foamy remains of his drink. "Scott, if Mitch Grassi doesn't have a crush on you, then I'm a terrible beatboxer."

Avi nodded, agreeing with the claim entirely. "Which means Mitch doesn't like you, Scott. Sorry."

Thus, the Q&A ended with the three bursting into laughter, happy and excited even though the baritone's mind was wandering to think about somebody with brown eyes, dark hair, and ivory skin with lips that tasted of honey...again.

Dammit.

* * *

 **Day 1: Mitch's POV**

Sparrow wasn't Caleb's actual name. It was a nickname given to him by Mitch's mother, whom had bestowed the title upon the boy when he had thrown himself from a high rock when he was small in an attempt to fly like the birds in his book. The ledge of the stone wasn't extreme, only ten feet off of the ground, but it was mountain-high to a five-year-old. The boy survived the fall, obviously, or else Mitch wouldn't be standing next to the now-grown teenager. However, Sparrow's flight had to be halted in his tracks due to a car accident. Which was the entire reason why Mitch was standing next to the now-grown teenager.

"Nice one, Sparrow." The countertenor said appraisingly. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. "Were you drunk?"

The teen in question rolled his chestnut eyes at his second cousin. His light oak hair had been pulled into a ponytail so that the doctors could examine his face easily, and they needed to along with the rest of his battered body; due to driving under the influence (oh yeah, he was drunk) he had earned himself a broken arm, leg, three snapped ribs and a bruised temple.

"Hey, it's Mitchell." He did the 'sup' head nod in Mitch's direction. The brunette almost waited for Scott to correct him, before he realized that oh, right, the baritone wasn't here, and oh, right, he went by his full name here in Texas. "What, did you appear out of thin air just for me?" Sparrow's gaze assessed his short family member. "Ah. You cut your hair. Where'd it all go?"

On cue Mitch flicked a piece of his hair from his line of sight. He'd had the side of his head re-shaved a few weeks ago, so the hair on the right side of his scalp was really beginning to grow in and contrast the uneven line that decorated the rest of his face. "Into thin air, Spar. In order to show up here, I needed to sacrifice my hair to the medical goddesses and shit like that."

The teen's mouth was solemn before it cracked a smile. Sarcasm was what the two had bonded the strongest over, and today was no exception even if one of them was immobilized.

"Where's your sister?" Sparrow tilted his head to the side and swept the room with his eyes.

Mitch relented with disappointment, "In Florida for business. I'll be the only one seeing you besides Mom, Dad, and Auntie. Shouldn't she already be here?"

"Naw. She was to excited about you comin' to town." The teen adjusted his position, wincing. "Did you see her already?"

"Nope. I got a hotel. Mom doesn't have any extra rooms, Spar. And I've been running around town all day getting crap done so that I don't have to do it tomorrow." The tiny brunette checked his watch. He bit his lip and held back a sigh. He missed Scott and couldn't stop thinking about him and therefore was distracted as fuck. But that didn't mean he didn't have errands to run and family to see here. He'd better get his ass moving, as Kirstie would say. Speaking of which, he missed her too.

Sparrow recognized the look on his second cousins face; undecided and anxious. "You have to go."

"I can stay-"

"It's okay, cousin. Go see the rest of the family and stop staring at a guy wrapped up in bandages and metal." The brown-haired man mustered up the most genuine smile he could, because he knew Mitch would feel guilty if he didn't. "You can visit me tomorrow."

"I promise." The countertenor said quietly. Sparrow knew the truth in the words and let his successful family member leave after that. He'd pester the shit out of him the following day.

Outside, Mitch had climbed into his rental car and had proceeded to make his way to his mothers house. The drive took twenty minutes, until finally he pulled up to the house he grew up in. It was a comforting sight, even though it made him ache on the inside at the memories. Many that were shared with a tall blonde that wasn't sitting next to him.

Huffing at himself, the brunette exited the car swiftly and walked to the door. He did so while mentally preparing his brain; his parents hadn't seen him in a while, and though they were probably the nicest people on the planet, they were a loud Italian family whom possessed Southern accents.

He was proven right when not a millisecond after he knocked on the door it swung open and he was wrapped in a welcoming hug. It was his mom, obviously, he could tell by the scent of perfume that she wore. And the look of joy he recieved when they parted.

"Mitchell!" His mom hugged him again. "Oh, how are you? I thought you weren't coming in until tomorrow! Otherwise I would've made more room-"

"It's okay, Mom." The singer grinned. "I'm staying at a hotel, it's not too far from here."

His mom beamed at him for a moment. Her gaze then swept the air around him, searching for a separate body that wasn't there. Her tone was puzzled when she asked, "Where's Scott?"

Mitch's thoughts were dragged in reverse to the moment not eighteen hours ago that the pair had stood in the middle of the airport and kissed, the most meaningful kiss in all of the countertenor's history of putting his mouth on someone else's mouth (and that list was quite the lengthy one). The warmth, the solidness of Scott's body, the giddy energy passing between them...all three of the endeavors was addicting.

"He didn't come with me." He finally relented, biting his lip and shooing away his ponderings. "I have to tell you something, by the way. You...um...may or may not approve."

His mother squinted, a habit that Mitch had inherited whenever he was trying to figure somebody out. "Okay. So long as you didn't kill anybody, Mitchell, I'm sure it wasn't too bad."

 _Oh, it was bad. Well, only bad if you think making out with my best friend is bad._ Mitch thought, allowing his mother to drag him inside of the soon found out that his sister _was_ in town, not in Florida; it had merely been a white lie to ensure he would be surprised. The brunette responded by lightly shoving his older sibling, whose eyes flashed with mischief. It was so good to see her again. It was so good to see everybody again.

His sister also inquired about the location of Mitch's other half. He told her the exact same thing he told their mom; he was alone this time, and he had something to tell her later.

However, this method of stalling didn't work on her. "No way, little bro. You're telling me right now. Before the rest of the damned family shows up."

"What?"

"Mom went nuts and called everybody over to her house down to our third uncle twice removed. They should be here to start a 'Welcome Back' party in about an hour." His sister's head tilted to the side, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder. "Talk."

Mitch scowled. "Fine. So-"

"Don't." She held up a hand, stopping him. "This has to do with Scott, right?"

The countertenor was seriously debating how hard he'd have to smash his mother's flower vase over his head in order to pass out. Probably pretty hard. "How the shit did you know that?"

She shrugged. "Older sisters just know these things." The doorbell rang loudly. "Ah, that'll be Roxie. She always gets here early." Mitch's sister shot him a wink as she turned to get the door. "And don't think you're off the hook. This conversation isn't over yet."

* * *

 **Day 2: Scott's POV**

Scott downed his first four strawberry martinis in record time. He only slowed in gulping his fifth when Kirstie put a hand on his arm and told him to calm himself and that the drink wasn't going to disappear into thin air. He rolled his eyes at her, but complied. She would've given him hell if he didn't.

The club was loud and full of sweaty bodies and neon lights, and the atmosphere was a mix of hyperactive sobers and stumbling drunks, with a few people (the baritone included) still in the tipsy zone. It wasn't totally wild; there were no brawls or fights, the music was funky but not forcefully so, the company decent.

He'd come here tonight to forget for a little while. As long as he shoved aside the notion that Kirstie wasn't Mitch (and thank god for that, otherwise Scott's mouth would be doing something besides accepting alcohol), the idea was working pretty well.

And as long as he also ignored the urge to take Mitch onto the dance floor and do very dirty things to him there.

And now Scott was thinking about Mitch.

And now Scott was thinking about Mitch without half of his clothes on.

And now-

 _Argh!_ The blonde frowned, shaking his head back and forth. Oh, yes, thank god Kirstie wasn't Mitch, or else there would've been a problem.

"How're you doing!?" The mezzo called over the pop song that was playing. Since they were such good friends, Scott could instantly tell that she meant, _How drunk are you and do you feel like vomiting?_

"I'm good!" He giggled. "I like the drinks here!" He lifted his alcohol, tinged pink and partially empty.

Kirstin smiled, showing off her cold glass of water proudly. She had been caught up on the whole her-best-friends-kissed-each-other thing and was the only one out of the remaining four of the group who understood her tall friend's need to push the matter aside. She knew what he'd end up doing if he didn't.

So the female vocalist was his ride. But she'd made him swear that he wouldn't get so drunk that he forgot who she was and refused to go home with her. The mezzo just couldn't deal with that.

The day itself had passed in a boring blur, the highlight of the blonde's past twenty-four hours being when he had finished the words to a song he'd been working on. He actually couldn't recall what the song was about at the moment...whatever. He'd worry over it later.

He needed another drink.

"One more, please!" Scott held up a few bills to the bartender. She was a tough-looking woman who knew the stages of drunk people quite well, saw he wasn't too far gone, and with a refined sigh she snatched up the money and a minute later, poof, another drink appeared.

Scott noticed his friend's warning look, and decided to drink his now sixth martini even slower than he had inhaled his fifth. As the liquid left a tart taste in the back of his throat, his gaze swiveled to the dance floor. The music that played wasn't raunchy, only provocative enough to entice a couple girls (the really, _really_ drunk ones) to take off their shirts and several more couples to begin grinding on each other.

On the edge of the mass of hot rotating skin was a man who was merely standing there, contemplating. He caught Scott's eye; a little on the shorter side (though everybody was short compared to the blonde) with hair dyed a dark jade green and dressed in clothes that were more than slightly revealing. His pale white face was pointed and sharp, but his cheeks were supple and rounded, and his posture was relaxed.

Watching the man whom was alone, Scott felt something inside of him stir. He had the sudden inclination to maybe ask the man to a quick dance. Setting his drink aside, he left Kirstie at the bar, chatting to another sober, smoothly approaching the mystery man.

When he noticed Scott, the man smiled a smile that was half-cunning, half-curious. He opened his mouth, and the phrase, "Hey. You looking to dance?" escaped in a voice much lower than the baritone had expected. He had expected it to carry a high, high tone laced with unanticipated masculinity.

Nodding with a sly grin of his own, the singer held out his hand and raised his eyebrows. The man accepted the silent question and let the taller man pull him onto the dance floor.

As if the music knew what was going on, it switched to a song that oozed sexy. Soon the two found their hips swiveling, sometimes connecting. Scott's mind fogged with pleasure as he ground into the pelvis of his newfound partner, who panted and snapped his hips back. In the heat of the moment, the alcohol doing cartwheels in his system, the darkness of the other mans hair, the music, the lights, the prospect of sex or the tightening in his pants; Scott didn't know what made him do it, but he moaned loudly, " _Mitch._ "

The man's actions slowed. Scott's fuzzy brain caught up to what he had just said, and it left him blushing and fumbling as his dance partner cocked his head to the side in irritated confusion.

"My name is Eric." The man said in his low timbre, giving a weird look. "Who's Mitch?"

"I-" The baritone's breath caught as his pants tightened embarrassingly further at the thought of the tiny brunette whom he craved badly, so so so badly right now it was painful. He came to the conclusion that he needed to get the fuck away from this Eric man and the fuck away from this bar and the fuck away from alcohol and sex and-

"He...I-I'm sorry, I have to go. Th-thanks for the dance." Scott abandoned the man there, now standing not at the edge of the dance floor but in the middle of it. Excusing himself as he bumped into people, he made his way through the crowd until he found Kirstie again. Still drinking her water and still talking to the other water-drinking girl next to her.

Scott stumbled a little when he reached for her, the liquor now fully coursing through his system mixed with an unhealthy amount of desire for a man that was someplace far from here. The mezzo started when she saw the distressed state of her close friend, and the desperate gleam behind his pupils. For what, she didn't know.

"Scott, what are you-hey!" Kirstie protested as he took her arm and tugged her to the door. "Wait, hold up, slow down! Why are we leaving, what happened?"

The blonde buried his face in one of his hands, the ghostly image of dark brown eyes parading around in his head. "Let's just go home, Kirstie. Let's just go home."

* * *

 **Day 2: Mitch's POV**

"I fucking knew it." Sparrow gave Mitch's sister a proud smile. "I knew they were dating. You owe me fifty bucks, cousin."

In return she frowned. "No. My little bro here says they only _kissed_ , so it's not the same thing."

The teenager scowled. "Is too. And even so, kissing usually leads to dating. I'll bet thirty more bucks they'll be regularly sucking face in, oh, a week or less."

His female cousin rolled her eyes. "Shut the hell up, they're both way too shy for that. I accept your bet because I think it'll take longer than a week."

Sparrow smirked, which in the Grassi family code sealed the deal. "Great. You might as well fork it over. Because you know what _not dating_ leads to? Sexual tension. Scott's probably losing his mind back home. And you know what sexual tension leads to? Sex. I bet you-"

"HELLO?" The countertenor spoke up, throwing a hand in the air in a clear _WTF_ gesture. "I'm sitting right in front of you! Why are you talking about me like I'm not here?" He had to interfere now, or else the pair would go on until they had put money down on the date of his wedding. He did not need to know that.

His sister adjusted the straps on her boots. She rose, a single eyebrow arched. "Well, maybe if you added input, we wouldn't."

" _Added input_ -I told you both the entire damn story and left out nothing!"

Grimacing at the pain shooting through his body, the teen in the hospital bed shifted his weight. "True. But still. We can put down all the money we like."

"Ugh!" The brunette huffed. "Why don't you guys bet on each other's lives or something?"

"You're is so much more dramatic and interesting, Mitchell." Sparrow said. "And anyway, everybody's been waiting for you and Scott to go out for years now. Seriously. What took so long?"

 _The fact that we were afraid to ruin our friendship. There's no way we could date. There's no way!_ Mitch thought helplessly, the gears in his brain turning. Was it true? Could Scott want him as much as Sparrow was saying, going nuts over Mitch as the family members spoke, thinking about the kiss as often as Mitch did?

Ah, but no. Impossible.

Was it?

"Guys, I don't know what to do." The brunette sighed heavily. The previous day had been exhausting mentally and physically, with all of the family that came over and visited and smiled and laughed and shared condolences. It had been amazing, of course, seeing all of the people he had not seen in months. Yet there was always a person nagging at his mind, someone with blue eyes and blonde hair and a sexy jaw with an even sexier voice.

"Date him." Sparrow replied simply.

"It's not that easy-"

"Why not?" The oak-haired teen argued. "Grab him by his face, shove your tongue down his throat, and do it!"

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?" Mitch yelled, his features a blend of murderous and entertained. His sister barked a laugh at their cousin's jump of momentary fear. "That's crazy!" The singer giggled and spread his hands to his sides with his palms facing outward. "Who does that? _You_? I wouldn't be shocked."

"Rude!" Sparrow used his good arm and threw a pillow at Mitch. The brunette easily dodged it and threw it back. It hit its mark. "Ow! Also rude!"

Mitch's sister felt the corners of her mouth tilt upwards. "Aww, poor baby. You shouldn't have been drunk as hell. Then you wouldn't be in this place."

"God, you two are a bunch of meanies!" The teen accused. The siblings laughed their asses off and didn't care when Sparrow flipped them the finger.

Eventually the trio gathered their wits and continued the conversation. Once again, their second cousin suggested the sticking-tongues-down-throats method. Mitch's sister strongly disagreed, telling him to try to sit down with Scott and talk to him. He was uncomfortable either way, bickering with the two over another option. Finally they gave up and told him that they had tried and now he was to decide for himself.

Sparrow thought it was funny that Mitch was stressing over a _boy_ of all things. He was hit with a pillow again.

"Shit, I gotta go you guys. I promised Dad I'd spend today with him. Thanks for the talk." The tiny man stood up, kissed his sister on the cheek, and made for the door. He paused to face his wounded cousin. "I won't be coming by again, Spar, because Mom has me busy all day tomorrow and my flight leaves early in the morning. See you later?"

"See you later, Mitchell. Visit me soon?"

"Of course." Mitch grinned. "Stay sober, you idiot. Bye, sis, I'll see you in a few hours at the house."

Sparrow chucked one more pillow at the door on an attempt to hit his countertenor cousin, but it smacked against the doorframe with a solid _Thunk!_ and slid to the floor.

* * *

 **Day 3: Scott's POV**

Since he had only been a slightly tipsy, Scott didn't wake up with a raging headache, which was good.

What was bad was that Mitch was coming home tomorrow and the baritone didn't know what to do with himself.

Except worry.

And wait.

And think about Mitch.

* * *

 **Day 3: Mitch's POV**

During his last day in Texas, Mitch did everything.

He went shopping with his sister, for starters; he'd already done so with his mom yesterday, but it was way more fun having his sarcastic sibling prattling on and on over his quiet mother. They went to the general market (buying mangos and earrings and bracelets) and the top quality fashion store (where Mitch bought a single item total; a white cashmere scarf decorated with cacti on them for his sister) and the middle-class fashion store (in which his sister bought one item total; a pair of skinny jeans).

Their last stop had been a non-descript gas station in the middle of the hot afternoon. As Mitch's rental car was filled, the pair jogged inside and gathered two Cokes and a giant bag of chips to share. His sister had taunted him with a box of condoms, saying that he was going to need them sooner than he thought; the singer had slapped it out of her hands and claimed that he already had plenty at home. She was giggling at the comment when they paid for their things as her brother flushed pink.

The countertenor never wanted the day to end. He wanted to stay driving on an endless road and pausing and shopping at infinite shops. Alas, the sun dipped below the horizon, and it was time for them to head to the house. The second they stepped in the door (they only carried the items of Mitch's sibling, for he'd be taking his home) their mother scolded them on the lateness of the hour and made them swear they'd tell her before doing it again.

"C'mon, Mom. We're not teenagers anymore. And anyway...it was all Mitchell's idea!"

"Hey!"

"Enough, you two!" Their mother said sternly. "You're not teenagers anymore, yes, but you fight like you are!" She released the tension in her shoulders, and her expression changed to a kinder look. "You have to be at your hotel soon, Mitchell. Your sister's guitar is in the living room. I thought you could sing a song, just a quick one."

Mitch smiled. Though he hadn't warmed up in a while (besides the hurried lyrics of _Love Again_ and _Ref_ sung almost silently in the shower) he thought he might as well give it a shot.

Five minutes later the three were seated in a triangle in the living room. His sister was strumming a slow beat as practice, waiting for him to start so she could get going. He bit his lip, thought for a moment, and then began.

 _I broke something I'll never get, I'll never get back_

 _Brought me to my knees_

 _A head like steel and a soul of gold_

 _And a heart that's made of glass_

Mitch sang the song steady and slow, his voice rough at first but smoothing easily. He thought of his confusion, how his heart shattered then rebuilt itself when he had kissed his best friend. Relationships were a breeze for everybody else, yet for him it was always too complicated. Always.

His high voice turned angry as he sang the next words.

 _But mine's cracked._

 _Whoa-ho-o-o-oh, whoa-o-o-o-oh_

 _Mine's cracked_

 _Whoa-ho-o-oh, whoa-o-o-o-oh_

 _No idea where I'm going_

 _But there's no looking back_

 _Oh I'm cracked_

 _Whoa-ho-o-o-oh, whoa-o-o-o-oh_

The song let his inner feelings escape, let him be free in front of his family. He was mad at himself and Scott for letting such a thing happen, even if it had felt good and tasted good and just _was_ good.

They were best friends. Nothing would change that. But the kiss had tried to.

By the time Mitch had finished with a long, solemn note, he knew exactly what he was going to do when he returned. Exactly.

* * *

 **Mitch's Return: Both POV's**

Nervous was a word used to describe a feeling. A feeling of unsettlement, a feeling of slight agitation. Minor stuff like that.

Scott did not think that he was nervous as his palms sweat, his brain flew into overdrive, his knees threatened to wobble. He thought he was going to throw up.

Less than ten minutes would pass until Mitch, his best friend and the man he had kissed, would appear to see Scott awkwardly waiting around for him. The blonde had insisted he pick up the smaller man by himself, saying the pair needed to sort things out (if there even was anything to sort out). The other members of Pentatonix nodded and waved it off and assured him it was no problem. They suspected his motives.

On the drive to the airport, the baritone had cranked up the radio and tried to blank his mind. Song after song after song played, each one providing comfort but no guidance for the current situation.

So he'd rubbed his eyes and fretted and escaped the walls of his car and entered the doors of the airport, and still he didn't know what to do, what to think, what to feel.

About one hundred feet from the baritone's spot, Mitch Grassi was wandering the giant space and searching with his eyes for his other half. How hard could it be to find him? He was ten feet tall and attractive as hell. Difficult to miss somebody like that.

With a sense of urgency that was growing, the countertenor wandered around some more. His path was halted when he finally spotted the _Waiting Area_ sign not twelve feet away. It instantly forced a memory in his head, one he'd replayed a thousand times; in front of that place was where Scott had kissed him. There was a possibility that said best friend was waiting for him in the exact spot he had left Mitch in.

It was unclear who spotted who first. One moment two pairs of eyes, one set blue and the other brown, were sweeping the airport with their gazes about to give up and look somewhere else, when their pupils locked and a spark travelled between them that was so intense the brunette shivered in eagerness.

They rushed to each other then, and collided in the middle in an embrace so secure and tight that it rivaled any of the hugs either one of them had ever recieved. Mitch held onto Scott like his life depended on it, grinning into his broad shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut.

The blonde took Mitch around the waist and swung him in a circle. The shorter man shrieked his protest, wriggling in his spot and demanding freedom. Scott giggled and released him, his heart lighter than it had been in three days.

"You're back." He said breathlessly. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes sparkled with passion and glee, a sight that his best friend reveled in.

The singer nodded. "Hi."

Scott pulled in Mitch for another hug. This one was shorter, but it still carried the same amount of longing that the previous hug had. The baritone hadn't touched the sexy little countertenor in seventy-two hours, and his hands itched to make up for lost time.

"I missed you." The taller man grabbed one of his best friends hands and linked their fingers together.

"I missed you too." Mitch replied without missing a beat. His blood rushed and boiled under his skin, set on fire by the presence of the person he'd thought about almost every day. "I...I..."

He seemed to be struggling for words. He decided that he didn't need words to convey how he was feeling. Instead, he settled for standing on his toes, wrapping his arms around the blonde's neck, and kissing him hard on the mouth.

The sweet, delicious honey flavor that Scott had craved like a drug bombarded his senses. With each careful flick of Mitch's tongue, it hit him again and again and he was drowning in it. He held his partner around his waist gently, liking how warm the countertenor was, like a heater, and how he moved his mouth against Scott's. Their bodies didn't just fit like two puzzle pieces; they molded to each other like clay, and the sensation made the baritone groan.

This was so much better than dancing with Eric. A million times better.

After a moment, Mitch disconnected their mouths so he could breathe. His lips were pink. Scott nuzzled the brunette, kissing him again, slower. Savoring. Any prospect of stopping was beginning to vanish as the countertenor trailed a hand from his best friends face, down the length of his body to grip his belt loops. So was Scott's train of thought.

"God." Mitch whispered once they'd remembered that they were in a public airport and had separated. His dark brown eyes were even darker than usual, hazy and fogged. "I missed you so much."

"It was boring without you." Scott said, thinking of the long stretches of nothingness that took over his time. "Because I was so used to you being here." He took a deep breath. "But now that we're fucking reunited, we're going to have a wine night. In celebration, you know."

The smaller singer grinned, tugging at Scott's pants suggestively. The former had forgotten that the latter's hand had rested there and jumped at the contact, his overexcited mind making him skittish.

"You're right. We're having a wine night." Mitch responded. "At our apartment. Alone, so we can talk. I have so much to tell you." He was thinking of his mom, Sparrow, and singing in the living room.

The blonde thought to the new songs he had written, whom he hadn't shown to anyone yet. "Me too."

Each taking a few of the brunette's bags, the two started to walk side-by-side, happy and chattering with new energy. The high-pitched singer opened with the weirdest thing that had happened to him. And the funniest as well.

"My sister wanted me to buy a box of condoms."

"Why?"

"She said I'd need them."

Scott laughed, bumping Mitch's shoulder playfully. "Aww, did you tell her you already have some?"

"How did you know that!?"

The baritone laughed again, a deep sound that his counterpart hadn't heard for too long. Now that he was thinking about it, he hadn't heard from any of his other friends either; Kevin, Avi, Kirstie. He wondered how they were doing. And if they would tell him if Scott went crazy while he was gone.

The pair approached the airport doors and pushed them open, their faces grinning and teasing and barely containing their excitement for the next few days that awaited them.


	16. I Want That Can't Sleep Love

**My readers! I owe you an explaination. I'm sorry that I left you all hanging for almost two weeks, but recently I was out of town and staying up way too late during the past few nights. I decided that 1) I needed to take a short break, just to pause my hectic writing for a little while and rest, and 2) that I'd hold off updating until today, because now I'm finally back on schedule and I could not be more content. I hope y'all aren't too upset and that this oneshot makes up for it!**

 **The summary: a oneshot obviously inspired by the song _Can't Sleep Love_ by Pentatonix and how it came to be written. Scott Hoying has realized the he's in love with his best friend, and that love keeps him up all night, every night. And what better way to express his feelings than by writing a song? Oh, and did he mention that maybe his best friend has a boyfriend?**

 **The lyrics below are from Pentatonix's _Can't Sleep Love,_ so disclaimer!**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Read away!**

* * *

Scott couldn't sleep. He tried to adjust his position on his bed, rearranged the blankets, punched the pillows, everything. And nothing helped; he repeatedly found himself staring up at his bedroom ceiling, uncomfortable and awake, attempting to think about something that would calm his racing heart and his queasy stomach. The upper wall was blank, a ghostly white in the moonlight that shone through the blind's of the baritone's window. Scott didn't want to get out of bed...yet he didn't want to stay awake either.

This dilemma was what made him ultimately decide to go with an old-fashioned method that promised rest.

Warm milk. His dry mouth was becoming wetter at the mere thought.

So he kicked off his too-hot covers, got off of his mattress, and stretched his arms as he opened the door and walked to his bedroom door. He didn't bother to pull on a shirt or even sweatpants, because he didn't figure anybody else was awake. On silent feet he padded through the dark hall (thankfully without tripping), for a moment believing he'd have a few quiet seconds to himself as he sipped milk and wondered just what was keeping his eyes open this particular night.

The singer turned out to be wrong; standing with the fridge open and fully dressed (save shoes) was his best friend Mitch. The smaller man's arms were crossed and he had a look of concentration on his face as he debated the fridge's contents.

"Can you grab the milk, Mitchie?" Scott asked. The countertenor whipped around quickly, startled by the smooth voice behind him, but he allowed the hand that was covering his heart to fall when the pale fridge light let him make out the features of his favorite baritone. The blonde smiled sleepily, which instantly put Mitch at ease (what? He had a weakness for sleepy smiles!).

"Sure." The brunette leaned down and reached with a single hand. Once he had located it, he passed the milk to his friend.

"Thanks." Scott yawned, stretching again and making his muscles flex. It was then that his counterpart realized that the baritone wasn't wearing anything except for boxers. He was glad for the darkness surrounding them; it hid the blush creeping up his cheeks. Yes, Mitch had a boyfriend whom he cared for very much (his name was Travis, and he was a sweetheart), but come on. His fellow singer was practically naked in front of him and he couldn't appreciate it?

 _Think Travis thoughts, Mitch._ He scolded himself. Please. He'd been dating his cute boyfriend for almost three months and already he was checking out other guys? God.

"Why're you up, Sis?" The countertenor inquired, closing the fridge door and bathing the room in complete blackness. It only lasted a second. A switch was flicked, and there was light.

Scott rolled his shoulders as he walked to the high cabinet where all of the glass was kept. He rummaged through it until he pulled out a glass cup, filled it with milk, and then finished the process by sticking it in the microwave. "Couldn't sleep. You?"

Mitch shrugged. "I got hungry. I've been up for forever trying to work on a new song, and nothing's coming to me."

"Mmm." The blonde hummed in acknowledgement. The microwave beeped. He retrieved his warmed beverage, blew it, and carefully took a drink. It didn't help to sooth his stomach, though, which refused to be untangled from its mess of knots. "How was your date?"

"It was excellent." The smaller man got a glazed sheen to his eyes. "We went to this really fancy restaurant and got breadsticks and wine and this really good wheat pasta. And we talked about his family and our lifestyles and where we grew up and things like that. Did you know he has a sister? She sounds _so_ nice, Scott. Maybe I'll meet her one day."

Scott separated form his drink and gave another half-smile. His stomach turned from knotted to twisted with nausea once he saw the pink on Mitch's cheeks and the adoring expression he wore. Strange. "I'm glad you had a good time."

"Yeah...Travis is amazing." He said almost dreamily, remaining fazed until he yanked himself back into reality and asked, "Have you thought up a new song yet?"

The baritone shook his head and continued to drink his milk. Pentatonix was creating a new, self-titled album with all original material, proof that covers weren't the only things that could be sung by an a capella group. Problem was, the group couldn't think of anything. Everybody had initially turned to Scott in the beginning, because he had a certain flare in the song creation department, but even he hadn't written anything good lately.

If they didn't come up with something soon, shit was going to start hitting the fan.

"I've been toying with a few ideas...mostly about love, since that's what most people can relate to." The tall man mused, setting his now finished glass of milk in the sink. Already he was starting to feel bleary; either the trick had worked, or his body was just plain exhausted. "I haven't gotten past that point."

Mitch was beginning to tire as well, what with the late hour of night and the fact that he had worked his own brain to a crisp. "You'll figure something out. You always do, babe."

He walked up to the blonde and tugged his arm like he was going to whisper a secret in his ear. Scott complied, leaning down, only to be shocked when the brunette put his mouth literally _right up against_ the curve of his neck and murmured, "Don't worry if you can't think of anything, okay? You're not in this alone. We'll help. All of us."

Sparks raced through Scott's blood like cars on a track. He nodded slowly, his nerves paying close attention to how rough and chapped Mitch's lips were and how his breath was an entirely different kind of warm. The warm that seeped into your bones and made you shiver.

He didn't shiver, but he felt a single tremble wrack his body as Mitch pulled away with a serious look.

"Good night, Scott." The countertenor said, walking out of the kitchen without another word and leaving the blonde dazed and weirdly off-putted.

It was then, staring after his best friends curved back, that the baritone recognized the hot want in his muscles, the ache in his stomach, the nausea, the way he felt like a bundle of nerves.

Scott was in love with Mitch.

He went to his room, and despite the lull the milk had given him, his eyes refused to close. He fell into sleep many, many hours later.

* * *

 _Tell me am I going crazy (Uh huh)_

 _Tell me have I lost my mind (Yeah)_

He was nuts. Insane. Probably imagining things.

How could Scott _possibly_ be in love with his best friend? Feeling such a way could wreak everything Pentatonix had ever worked for. And anyway, Mitch had never shown any interest in the blonde...not to mention the fact that, oh right, the smaller man _had a boyfriend, and therefore was not single and up for grabs._ So there. That logic ought to keep his jumbled claim at bay.

What did he know about falling in love, anyway? He'd never had a partner in his entire life (which he had to admit was sad for a twenty-three year old man to own up to. In his defense, nobody had yet to catch his eye. And he was shy, alright?).

Scott stabbed his cereal with his spoon, watching as the Cheerios fled the scene whenever the metal came in contact with the milk. He'd been sitting in the living room in front of the TV for about two hours now, his gaze only observing the screen once in every while. He had no idea what was playing, but he made sure whatever it was had the volume turned down.

For the fourth time, he brought the soggy breakfast food to his mouth and ate it carefully. It tasted vaguely sweet. Not much of a comfort.

This went on for another half hour, until the audible popping of somebody cracking their back reached Scott's ears. He didn't know whether to be dismayed or excited when Mitch Grassi himself walked into the space wearing the clothes that the blonde had last seen him in. The brunette looked only slightly rumpled from his sleep, somehow carrying enough regality to make up for his frazzled appearance.

"Morning, Hannah." Came a high-pitched voice. The baritone mumbled in response. He glanced up from his spot on the couch when heard the sound of somebody crunching. Mitch had grabbed the cereal box and had leaned one hip on the side of the sofa, his brown eyes narrowed at the television. Scott couldn't ignore the sharp jolt that shocked his heart at the sight of him. "What are you watching?"

"Hmmmm? Oh." He squinted at the screen. "I don't know, actually."

Mitch giggled. " _Say Yes To The Dress_? Great choice. I think you're better suited for _The Bachelor_ or reality shit like that." He sighed wistfully. "The bachelor guys all those woman fight over? One of them is really hot. Like Theo James hot."

"Uh huh." Scott wasn't completely listening. Instead he stabbed at his shriveled Cheerios. He wished Mitch and his stupid voice and his stupid face and his stupid body would just _go the fuck away_ and stop tempting him and making his head spin. If being in love with somebody felt like you were about to pass out from dizziness every five seconds, then the blonde officially disliked being in love.

It made everything so freaking awkward.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" The countertenor paused in his eating, chancing a look at his solemn best friend. Scott had light shadows under his eyes and he didn't look well. "What's wrong?"

The taller man scowled uncharacteristically and said, "I'm fine." With more snap than he had intended.

"Whoa. Watch the tone please, Scrooge." Mitch replied, lifting his weight and moving to the side of the room, next to the television screen. His expression was half-sassy, half-concerned. "What's going on with you this morning?"

 _Am I just afraid of loving (Uh huh)_

 _Or am I not the loving kind (Yeah)_

"Nothing!" Scott shot back, annoyance in his tone. He refused to look at the person whom was occupying his thoughts and glared purposely at the TV. "What the hell do you want from me?"

The brunette's face instantly became hurt. "Scott, why are you being so mean? Did something happen?" He figured that since they were best friends, they could work this out. They never fought. What could be the problem now?

Scott finally tore his gaze from the TV in order to show off the dissatisfied frown growing on his features. He lifted himself from his spot and walked to the kitchen to dump his bowl in the sink, his eyes not knowing if they should soften or turn cold when they found Mitch still standing in his same place, looking unsure of himself and very confused.

It was that combination of emotions playing on the countertenor's features that made the blonde sigh and bring a hand up to rub the back of his neck. A second later he was pulling his best friend into a gentle hug, which was reciprocated after only a moment more passed.

"No, no. I'm sorry. Nothing happened between us, Mitch." _At least, nothing that you know about. Yet. Oh, god, when am I going to tell him?_ The baritone tucked his face inside the smaller man's shoulder tightly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to shoo away his thoughts. "I just didn't get enough sleep last night."

"You can't sleep?" Mitch's tone was worried. He released his other half and gazed at him questioningly. Which was great, because that meant Scott could focus on those dark, dark brown eyes, attractive and enticing and..."Maybe you're overworking yourself, babe. I told you last night that we'd all help you write a song. You don't have to do it by yourself, you silly head."

 _Kissing in the moonlight_

 _Movies on a late night_

 _Gettin' oooh... (Uh huh)_

What if Scott did it now? Leaned down and kissed those pink lips that begged for attention. They were _begging._ "It's not that, Mitchie. I'm fine, really. Just thinking about the band and stuff. I'll come to you guys if I need serious help, you know I will."

"Okay." Was the wary answer. "Well, if you're feeling like shit, call me. I'll be out with Travis today. We're gonna go see a movie and then go to his place afterwards."

"Oh, no!" Scott grabbed Mitch's shirt dramatically, acting desperate and afraid. "No, no! You can't leave me here all alone! You can't leave me here with _it_!" He pointed at Wyatt, who was drinking and eating his breakfast, looking like he didn't give a frick about anything. He meowed, glanced at his owners, and continued eating.

This earned several breathless laughs from his best friend, payment enough for the crappy nights sleep that he had gotten.

"As long as you're feeling okay." The countertenor went to a chair in the living room, locked up his bag from where he had thrown it the night before, and blew Scott a playful kiss. "I'll be back in time for dinner!"

The blonde sent a tired smile and a thumbs up, trying not to feel too disappointed when he heard the solid slam of the front door. He rubbed at his eyes and breathed deeply, the pounding of his aching heart bouncing around his eardrums. Good lord, had he almost kissed Mitch? That was too close.

Much, much too close.

Because he knew what would happen if he pressed his lips to his best friend's. It might feel like heaven for a moment; soft, sweet, pleasurable heaven. And then...then it would fall apart. Mitch would pull away with a disgusted expression, wipe his lips furiously, maybe shout at Scott for daring to kiss him. And remind him that _guess what, genius, I have a boyfriend! He's the one that I love! Not you!_

 _I've been there done that_

 _It's supposed to be hot but it's just cold (So so so cold)_

The baritone inwardly cringed, imagining the high-pitched shrieks with acute clarity. The rejection, that's what he was afraid of. Being turned down for somebody else by the person he loved the most. Scott was afraid of being alone.

As pathetic as it sounded, standing in that living room, the tall singer realized that he didn't want to be alone, he really really didn't. But nobody had caught his eye. Until now of course. And the person whom had caught his eye was taken.

A painful shock traveled throughout Scott's system when he thought about Mitch. His voice, his eyes, his caring personality. The shock was soon replaced by a tug centered around his heart, a tug that made his breath catch and his soul hurt.

He wanted Mitch. He...he loved Mitch.

 _Somebody wake up my heart_

 _Light me up_

 _Set fire to my soul (to my soul, to my soul, to my soul)_

But he couldn't have him.

 _Because I can't do it anymore_

* * *

The day's started to blur together, and as they did so, things got worse.

Well, maybe not for everybody; Kirstie had just got engaged to her long-time boyfriend Jeremy, and she had burst into the recording studio not a day ago to happily brandish her sparkly ring. Avi and Kevin were working hard on the baseline for a song, and we're thinking they would call it _First Things First_ or something like that. They said it was a work in progress.

Mitch walked into the apartment with a dreamy haze covering his eyes all the time now. It was almost regular to see him slightly off task, fumbling with things in his hands, staring into space with a large some. His brain was somewhere in daydream land.

Scott could guess who was causing his best friend to act so love struck, and many times he had to prevent himself from gritting his teeth in jealousy or making a sad face. Because really. It didn't matter that it hurt his heart every time the brunette whispered to him about how amazing Travis was, or when the small man's appearance was ruffled (skin flushed, lips puffy, shirt wrinkled...) as he practically tripped over his feet to his bedroom after an exciting night with his boyfriend.

No it didn't matter. Mitch was happy. Mitch was happy with Travis. That's what Scott had to keep on telling himself. So long as Mitch was happy.

 _Maybe I'm too picky, honey (Uh huh)_

 _But I'm not in the world that you're in (huh, huh)_

For as many nights wore on, more and more became sleepless ones. The blonde would stay up all night sometimes, never gaining more than a minute or two of shut eye. It was his thoughts of a certain countertenor buzzing around his mind constantly and the pain his heart would present him with that kept him awake.

He'd toss and turn, occasionally getting up to drink a little water or milk. Nothing ever helped.

Not sleeping was like a particular brand of love. There was the funny love, the playful love, the tough love, the sad love. This love was weirder than those listed above. In fact, now that Scott was thinking about it, it needed its own name. Like...like...can't sleep love. It was that can't sleep love, that kind of love that forced you awake every night.

 _I'm not in it for the money_

 _No,_

 _I'm here looking for the real thing (Yeah)_

He knew it was strange. He knew it was insane. Yet Scott found himself waiting until nightfall, waiting for his daily dosage of can't sleep love. It was a reminder of what he carried with him, that he longed to give to someone, assuring that yes, this was raw, and yes, this was the real thing. Sure, he was reminded of being in love every single time he glanced at Mitch, but not sleeping was different.

 _Gimme that can't sleep love (give me that can't sleep love)_

 _I want that can't sleep love (that can't sleep love)_

 _The kind that I dream about all day_

 _The kind that keeps me up all night_

 _Give me that can't sleep love_

Scott knew he was insane and he knew that the absence of sleep was affecting him. And yet, he craved the reminder of his love. He couldn't wait to not sleep.

Oh yeah. He was nuts.

* * *

About three weeks after the baritone realized he was in love, it was mid-morning, the sky an eager blue, and he was standing in line at Starbucks with Mitch and his head was killing him. There was nothing strange going on that day, as the pair went to Starbucks together every day and nothing would change that.

Ignoring the throbbing in his head and paying for the coffee, Scott casually slung an arm around the brunette's shoulders as they left the café and were greeted by the cool air outside. Mitch leaned his body against his best friend's chest, drawing comfort from the warmth.

"Scott?" He said quietly as the two strolled down the sidewalk back to their apartment.

"Yeah?" The sugar-filled taste of the taller man's drink danced across his tongue and chased some of the ache in his mind. He needed a Tylenol or and Advil or something.

Mitch paused almost nervously. This made Scott instantly curious.

"I...I wanted to tell you something."

"Is it that you didn't clean out the litter box this morning? I already know that, Mitchie."

"Not that! And it was your turn anyway!" The countertenor hit the arm of his other half, who merely grinned in response. "It's about somebody that I think I might...love. Like really love."

Scott froze in his place. The noise of the outside world faded as he focused on the tinier singer's intent features.

"Who is it?"

Mitch held a single finger to his lips, a move that the blonde found unfairly seductive. Wait a minute...were they flirting right now? "It's a secret. I want your advice, though. I feel like I should tell them I love them but I'm scared they won't say it back. Should I do it?"

 _Oh I'm tired of dreaming of no one (I'm tired)_

 _I need somebody next to me (I, I'm tired yeah)_

 _Because I'm dying to give it to someone (Give it to someone)_

"Yes." Scott blurted without thinking. His heart was doing the talking now, while he stared into deep brown eyes and hoped for the impossible. He had no control whatsoever over his vocal chords. "You should tell them. I guarantee they'll say it back, Mitch. If you're not afraid, then they won't be afraid."

"You think so?" Was the soft-spoken reply. The brunette began to glare at his feet, obviously shy and unsure. His older friend responded by taking his chin (oh, but this was giving him thrills and he couldn't breathe right now, Scott couldn't breathe) and tilting it upwards so that their gazes met.

Scott smiled. "I know so."

Mitch gave a satisfied grin of his own, took hold of the wrist supporting his face, and rubbed it soothingly (which made somebody's soul leap). "You're completely right. I should just tell them."

He dropped his eyes from looking at the baritone's awaiting blue ones and reached into the pocket of his jeans. Pulling out his phone, he swiftly punched in Travis's number.

Scott recognized the number on the screen and became highly confused. "What are you doing?"

"Calling Travis to tell him the famous three little words, of course." The smaller man winked. "I wasn't sure about it at first, and you convinced me. Thanks for being my best friend and giving me the advice, babe. I feel a lot braver now."

Feeling suffocated, the blonde watched as the man he was in love with spun on his heel so that he could walk a few paces away for privacy (or at least until Scott couldn't hear a word he said). Crushed. That was the word for the moment the sky went dark and the walls went from bright red to bland grey. Yeah. Scott was utterly crushed.

Unwelcome tears pricked his eyelids as he saw Mitch smile widely as he chattered to his boyfriend. He'd thought for sure that the countertenor had been about to tell him that he loved him.

He was wrong.

So wrong.

 _Because I can't do it anymore_

Scott yanked his own phone from his pockets and pressed a single number that was reserved for a special someone on his speed dial. A moment later, that person picked up.

" _Scott? What's up?_ " Kirstie's voice sounded through the phone.

"I have a song idea, Kirstie. I think it might be really good but I don't I will for sure yet." He raked a hand through his hair.

" _Oh god! That's amazing! Tell me, how much do you have done and when can we start singing? You know we have to get an original out there soon._ "

"I only have a few lyrics...but I have the title."

" _And?_ "

"It's kinda spur-of-the-moment...I think I want to call it _Can't Sleep Love._ "

* * *

"I'm sorry, Travis." Mitch said, cutting off his partner in the middle of a sentence. There. Those were the infamous three little words, out in the open and over with.

" _What? What are you talking about?_ "

"I don't think this is working out between us. You're a really great guy, you are, and you'll make somebody else happy. The spark is gone. I'm sorry." The brunette glanced over to where Scott was now talking into his own phone, wearing a solemn but handsome facial expression. "Somebody else has been nagging my brain lately."

" _So that's just it then? You're gone, out of my life?_ " Travis's tone was angry and demanding, nothing like how he usually talked. " _What about everything we did together? The memories we shared?_ "

"I'm sorry." Mitch repeated, impatientness creeping in the edges of his mind. Everybody had thought that the small man had been distracted because of Travis. God, they were so far off the bat. The countertenor was more into tall blonde baritones. "Thanks for everything, Travis. Goodbye."

There he clicked the end call button. If he let that conversation go on, it would just get more and more awkward and uncomfortable for both of them.

Recalling the crazily eager glint in Scott's eyes when Mitch hinted about being in love with somebody, the singer smirked at himself, clicked his phone off, and squared his shoulders. As Mitch silently crept up behind his secret crush, he wondered if he should play his game a little longer or kiss the hell out of Scott Hoying.

Or maybe he'd just say those famous three little words. The _good_ three little words. Three little words that might change everything for the better.

Yeah. He'd do that instead.


	17. Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory

**Hiya, my readers! It's time for another oneshot! This one is very similar to _The Boy Who Could Sing High,_ because it takes place during Mitch and Scott's elementary school years and is less romantic Scomiche and more friendship Scomiche (although I've injected a little bit of huh-maybe-I-think-I-like-you into this story). **

**I know that in the Superfruit video "BOYFRIEND TAG" Scott describes his first impression of Mitch in much detail, and though this oneshot isn't set up exactly like how he describes, it was inspired by that instance (where Scott realizes that he is obsessed with Mitch aka his 'first impression' of him). It was also a little difficult to write because of the fact that it takes place two months after the events of _The Boy Who Could Sing High_ , meaning that some of those plot elements are still in play. Things to keep in mind.**

 **Sorry! I'm prattling and I shouldn't be. There's just a crapton to explain to y'all. Here's the brief summary; Scott Hoying and Mitch Grassi are ready to face both their hope and their fear: auditioning for the school musical. A lot of things come out of the experience, like meeting the director, singing in front of an audience...and Scott realizing that maybe he's obsessed with the countertenor. Just a little bit.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

"You got the name wrong, Scott!" The ten-year-old brunette pointed out, his eyes staring meaningfully at the poster in front of the pair. It advertised the upcoming event being held in the school auditorium; auditions. The mere thought of it was making Mitch's stomach twist.

However, his claim was correct; seven weeks prior, when the boys had met, the taller of them had called the play _Charlie And The Chocolate Factory._ He'd mixed up the Willy Wonka part with Charlie.

His blue-eyed friend squinted at the text and the colorful picture that went along with it (he was going to get his glasses soon, and boy, did he need them). "Oh. Oops." He narrowed his gaze even further. "Anyway, it still looks like fun. I only messed up the name a little bit."

There was a moment of quiet as the two took the time to properly read the sign before them. Since Scott was a faster reader (his shy excuse was that he was a whole grade above his shorter companion) he had reread the notice thrice in the time it took Mitch to read it once. There was a line that Scott knew his younger half would freak out about. He'd bet that he'd spaz in five, four, three, two-

"It's a-" The brunette paused. His expression abruptly changed from calm to panicked. "Wait a minute, it's a musical! You didn't tell me that!"

"Mitch-" The blonde tried to sooth. It wasn't working. His friend clutched his arm tightly as his dark brown eyes widened in dismay.

"Does that mean we have to _sing!?_ " With the last word sounding like a shriek, Mitch wasn't helping dispel that fact that many children at the school, due to Preston Whitticker's teases and taunts, believed that he was secretly a girl. Whenever the aspiring countertenor got too excited or frantic, his already soprano-high voice rose to a pitch that would hurt your ears if you weren't accustomed to it. Scott was familiar with his friend's weirdly high tone, but several of the kids milling in the hallway turned their heads to send the small fourth grader a strange look.

Repressing the urge to frown at the lot of them (everybody was on their way home, so the school exits were becoming packed with children. The pair of soon-to-be-singers were walkers, so they weren't in any rush), the boy whose eyes were significantly bluer said in a voice that was irritatingly normal, "So what?"

"Scott. I can't sing. I. Can't. Sing." Mitch protested, rubbing his small face with an even smaller hand. "What if they give me a girl part because of my voice?"

Admittedly, the prospect was embarrassing. "They won't do that. No matter what you sound like."

"Why did I say I'd do this?"

Scott playfully shoved his friend's arm with a teasing grin. "Because you love me, that's why."

"Shut up!" Red tinted the smaller boy's cheeks, though he had no idea why.

"Auditions are tomorrow after school. We are coming back here tomorrow and we are auditioning and you are going to love it done it's over with end of story goodbye." The blonde blurted all at once. Without another word, he grabbed Mitch's hand and hauled him to the school doors. Both of their mothers were awaiting them and in his eyes there was nothing to debate any further.

Casting a last glance at the poster, the countertenor sighed and went with his companion through the school doorways and into the outside world.

* * *

For the most part, Scott and Mitch clung to each other since they didn't know anybody. Not a single face in the auditorium was recognizable, every small smile or nervous handshake tossed their way always thrown by a complete stranger. There were many kids their own age, around nine, ten, and eleven, but some were much older (thirteen or fourteen) and a few looked to be in kindergarten or first grade. The director stood in the middle of the stage, greeting the kids who ran up to him with a nod.

But the stage itself...it was one of the largest and most beautiful and majestic things that Mitch Grassi had ever seen in his life (yes, he was only ten. Still). It's floor was a solid black, long and oval-like. From the ceiling red curtains fell, huge things that only added to the booming effect of standing next to something so big. There were a few lights set up around the corners of the place, and in front of them, dozens upon dozens upon dozens of rows of seats.

It was amazing.

"Whoa." He whispered, leaning closer to Scott's side. The baritone automatically reciprocated, pressing his arm against Mitch's tinier body. "This place is really big."

"Yup." Was the short reply.

The pair merely stood in their place by the doors for several more moments, unsure about what to do or where they were to go. It's not that they weren't excited about auditioning (though Mitch was wary and nervous to the point of feeling like he was going to vomit), it was that the generally crazy-and-rushing feel of the atmosphere was foreign to them.

After five minutes passed, the director (a short man with rounded glasses and hair pulled back into a ponytail) clapped his hands once, and loudly. It took a moment before all of the children had quieted their conversations and were paying the man in charge heed.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!" He said in a voice that didn't need to shout to be heard. "For those of you returning to the stage, I'm glad to have you back. For those of you who are new to the Fine Arts, allow me to introduce myself; I am Mr. Thalik, the drama director. Now, if you'd all kindly sit on the stage and let me explain things further."

Everybody abandoned their posts (Scott and Mitch included) and walked to the stage, chattering to whomever their closest neighbor was in relative quiet. A minute passed, a minute that the kids used to get properly settled. Mitch sat right next to his favorite blonde and wondered why his stomach tingled each time their knees brushed.

"I'm going to keep this as short and sweet as possible, you guys, because I know y'all are eager to audition." Mr. Thalik began. "But first, there are some ground rules: no running around. Your shoes are always on, I don't deal with socks or bare feet. Be nice and respectful to your peers. Most importantly, when I'm talking, you are not." He gave a look to a girl whispering to her friend. She immediately stopped, her face morphing into a look of embarrassment. "Now that the serious stuff has been established, it's time to move on to the part you've all been waiting for; trying out. Are you ready?"

There were several "Yeah's", followed by a few "I think so's", and then two or three "I really have to pee so no's" came after.

"Great. Let's begin!"

Five minutes passed until everybody had arranged themselves in the seats of the auditorium, the kids who knew each other obviously clustering together and the newcomers straying from the stage. The soon-to-be baritone peered at the stage through his eyelashes as he watched child after child perform the best that they could. It was also very apparent whom had been on the stage before; mostly it was the older adolescents, experienced and unafraid. They'd done this already. They could do it again. And boy, did they strut with purpose, their script in their hands and their eyes alight.

Scott bit his lip and glanced at the tinier boy next to him. His counterpart was clearly nervous, but sent his friend the best smile he could muster, which was returned with equal anxiousness.

Perhaps he shouldn't do this. Yes, this was one of the moments he had been waiting for since...well, since forever. The chance to show off his voice (though he always felt that it was somewhat mediocre whenever he compared it to Mitch's unique tone) and land a spot in a musical. He was here and was not ready. But he had to make it.

Hopefully Mitch would too. It would be so much more fun if they did the musical together.

"-you very much, Tamarin." Mr. Thalik was saying as he clapped. A girl whom had just finished her audition bowed (her voice was a little low, a little gritty, yet still in tune when she sang) and scurried to her seat. The director swiveled his head and gave a stare of his own to the awaiting mass. "Sorry, guys, but since I don't know all of your names yet, you're gonna have to remind me; who hasn't shown me their stuff yet?"

Scott, Mitch, and eleven other boys and girls raised their hands. Mr. Thalik squinted, mulling over the choices in his brain.

"How about you come up, sir." He pointed at Scott. The blonde stood up shakily, his body halfway between becoming sick and leaping with joy. Grinning a little at the small brunette sending him a thumbs-up and a quickly mouthed _Good luck, Scott,_ he walked from his seat to the center of the stage. The lights almost blinded him.

Mitch nearly started to chew his nails, a habit his mother and sister both scolded him for. He almost couldn't help himself, however, as the anxiety quelling in him for his friend was similar to that of an adrenaline rush and he didn't know what to do with the pent-up energy.

"What's your name?"

"Scott Hoying."

"Well, Mr. Hoying. Please pick up the script in front of you and read for..." Mr. Thalik looked at his own script. "Hmm. Read page thirty as Charlie. I will help you and voice Willy Wonka, ok?" Scott nodded, picking up the script and flipping to the appropriate page. He wanted to get this over with. "Good. Whenever you're ready."

Mitch watched in fascination as his friend began. The blue-eyed boy spoke his words fluently and with meaning behind them, never missing a beat. He moved around, too, not staying in one place on the stage, only making the performance more interesting. Mr. Thalik matched his even pace, saying his own lines with total perfection. It was great fun to watch, and the brown-haired child felt his heart swell with pride; that was his friend up there. That was _his_ friend.

Midway through, Scott was required to sing. His voice was smooth as chocolate and as dark and deep as it as well, a sound that Mitch could not deny his envy of (or his enjoyment at listening to). God, but that boy could sing like the best of them. If the countertenor could've used a big sixth grader word to describe the baritone's voice, it would probably have to be _spellbinding_ or something like that. And Scott just looked great up there, dancing and into the song.

The blonde did a twirl on the stage, exiting the move with a controlled sweep of his arms. As he did so, he caught Mitch's eye, winking at him with an open smile. The notion made butterflies erupt in the brunette's stomach and his brain become slightly fuzzy.

Huh...what had he been thinking about again...?

It took no longer than a few minutes (even though it seemed like a few years) until Scott finally finished. Many others besides Mr. Thalik clapped for him. He got off the stage and breathed a sigh of relief. The experience and been fun, but highly stressful. Was this what adult work was like?

"You were amazing!" Mitch said to him as he sat down in his seat. His brown eyes were sparkling. "You got in for sure! I knew you could sing, but I didn't know you could dance, too! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

The taller of the two reached a hand to massage behind his neck. "I dunno...I guess it never-"

"That was a job well done, Mr. Hoying." The director scribbled something on his clipboard. "Can I have the young gentleman next to you kindly enter the stage?"

The brunette sucked in a startled breath. Scott put a hand on his shoulder, having already gone through the panic clearly jumping through the smaller boy's veins, and reassured him that it would be alright and that he'd do great. This led to a silent arguemnt between the two ( _I'm scared! You'll do fine. But I'm not as good at singing as you are! Mitch, you'll be okay, you always sound great. What if I trip? You're not going to trip, just get out there!_ ) that ended with one of them getting up and making their way to the stage.

As Mitch traipsed down the aisles, whispers could be heard creeping up and down the walls. Was it really him, the boy who had the voice of a girl, trying out for the play? No way! Really? Impossible!

"What is your name, sir?"

Mitch gulped, shielding his eyes from the powerful stage lights. They almost burned his corneas off if such a thing was possible. This was the part where he got laughed at.

"Mitchell Grassi, sir." He said in his pitchy soprano. He heard giggles and snickers. "You can call me Mitch if you want."

Mr. Thalik, surprised at the highness of the auditioner's tone, almost didn't know what to say. "Well...whatever you prefer. Is Mitchell alright with you?"

"Sure."

"Okay, then. Please flip to page...um...hmmm...fifteen if you would. Read from the beginning."

Scott watched as his friend picked up the script he had used not a minute before. The director was a smart man and had picked a part that suited a person with a particularly high voice, so little Mitchie aced the part. The baritone was honestly awaiting the true show; the singing part. Mitch had one of the prettiest voices Scott had ever heard.

And he was not disappointed. Once told what song to sing, the countertenor opened his mouth and...

...released some of the sweetest-sounding words on the planet. Scott was on the edge of his seat in excitement, marveling over how such a tiny person could sing so loudly and so well, so in control. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands with a faint smile on his face, content in merely listening to his friend sing like he was born to do it.

When he could bring himself to look up again, Mitch's own eyes were closed as he was lost in the moment and had passion for the words he sang.

 _I am obsessed with him._

The thought flitted through Scott's mind as fast as a hummingbirds wings could beat. He'd almost forgotten he'd thought it, his mind procured it so swiftly. He was shocked at his ponderings, torn because he wanted to stop time and yank those unspoken words back and examine them ten times or more; but he couldn't and had to sit there and listen to the last words of Mitch's song with the knowledge that something big had happened, though he wasn't exactly sure what.

The applause was loud and approving. The aspiring countertenor smiled awkwardly but happily and bounded off, setting his script down where he had found it. He returned to his seat eagerly, and to the grin of his friend.

"Oh my god, Mitch. That was so good I can't even stand it." Scott said truthfully.

The brunette giggled. "Thanks. I wasn't as good as you, though."

"You were me times a bajillion. That's how awesome you were."

The words warmed the small singer. He blushed a little. Um...wait...what... "That's nice. I still think you were better."

"Oh, whatever. We'll see tomorrow morning who got in. If you get a better part than me, then you owe me a dime."

* * *

Two boys, ages ten and eleven, burst through the doors of their school without a pause. One of them was a short brunette, the other a taller blonde. Their backpacks were heavy with pencils, notebooks, and other essentials, and still that did not stop them from running through the halls like wild animals trying to get to the front of the auditorium doors before anybody else could.

Luckily, they weren't caught by any strict hall monitors or cranky teachers who still needed their morning cups of coffee. Since the boy Scott had longer legs, he reached his destination first and immediately skimmed the castvlostvwith his eyes. Mitch was the one with brown hair, and he arrived five seconds later, panting and holding his knees.

"So?"

Scott's face was serious. "I'm looking, but I don't..." His voice faded a nod his eyes froze and then flicked between two different spots on the sheet of black text.

He turned to his friend. "We got in."

"We what?" The countertenor couldn't believe his ears. He needed to hear it once more.

"We got in, Mitch. We got in!" Grabbing Mitch's arm, the blonde pointed to the spots he had been staring at. "There's my name, and then there's yours! We got in!"

"We got in." The smaller boy repeated, his high tone breathless. "We got in!"

They began to laugh and chant the words. "WE GOT IN, WE GOT IN, WE GOT IN, WE GOT INNNNNNNNNNN!" They were so hyped with joy that they gave each other a tight hug. It ended quickly, though, with them both recalling where they were and who they were hugging and then lots of squirming and blushing happened. But nothing could spoil their mood.

They had gotten in! Scott and Mitch were in the school musical! And so what that the blonde may be discovering his likeness towards the little brunette was more than platonic? And really, did it matter that Mitch might be figuring out the reason why he always felt so happy and light around his favorite baritone? THEY WERE IN THE SCHOOL MUSICAL!

"We have to get to class." Scott said, unable to keep the smile off of his face. "I'll see you after school for our first rehearsal?"

"Duh!" The brown-eyed boy returned. "This is going to be so great! I hope they let me sing more...I kinda liked it."

Giving Mitch a knowing look, Scott replied with a simple, "Duh! How many times do I have to tell you that you sounded amazing?"

"Stop it...that's nice." An idea hit the fourth grader then. "Gosh! Do you know what we should do? We should go to the office and call our moms really quick and tell them! We still have time."

"You're right. We should." His older counterpart wiggled his eyebrows and took off towards the main office, where the two had first met. "C'mon, let's go, Mitchie!"

The entire way there, the two would not stop yelling, "WE GOT IN, WE GOT IN, WE GOT IN!" because they could not get over the wonderful taste of the words on their tongues.


	18. Maudit

**Hey, my readers! I missed y'all throughout the week! But as promised, here's your next oneshot, the partially French one that I've been mentioning for forever now. It has Scomiche, for sure, but with a little bit of magic woven in.** **This oneshot was inspired by the French song _Papaoutai_ and why Pentatonix sings it as a cover song in PTX Vol III. I've always wondered why myself, so I chose to write this short story as a sort of explaination.**

 **The summary; In order to take his mind off of his newfound crush (who just so happens to be his best friend Mitch), Scott decides to flirt with a boy at a bar. The bartender doesn't like that. So she (being a witch on the side, of course) curses him with the inability to speak English and the ability to speak only in French. There's one thing that can break this curse, though; kissing the one that he desires.**

 **All of the French below can be typed into Google Translate (I am so, so sorry. I know I'm lame.) in order to see what it means in English. I made sure it was as accurate as possible!**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Read away!**

* * *

 _Maudit ; adj. A word of French origin, it means 'damned' or 'cursed' when translated._

* * *

How did you say _je ne parle pas l'anglais_ in English?

Or, _je suis basié._

Scott felt like repeatedly hitting his head until it broke open and his brains spilled out. As graphic as the image was, desperate longing quelled in him at the mere thought; at least, with his mind detached from his body, he wouldn't have to put up with this absolutely horrendous headache. Alas, there was no wall or other suitable surface within his current reach; not while he stood on the side of the road.

Cars whizzed by at terribly fast rates, the cool air blasting into the singer's face each time one got too close. Said singer's mind was jumping and contorting and was mixing together in a way that bordered on pain, which evoked the blue-eyed man's urge to hit his head. His brain seemed to be fighting itself; in a way it was, for the curse that had been cast upon him split his very being into two different parts.

The blonde's eyes flickered to the red octagon next to him that was only a foot taller than his messy waves. It said, _Stop,_ in clear, bold English. Good. He could still read properly. Blowing his hands so that they would begin to warm up, Scott debated his options. He couldn't call any of his friends and ask them for a ride to the studio, not even Mitch (his heart beat a little faster when he thought the brunette's name), because they wouldn't understand him unless his friend Kevin had developed the sudden ability to speak French as well as Chinese.

Maybe he could order an uber. Scott checked his watch.

 _4:23 p.m._

Shit. If he was going to call an uber, he was going to have to do it now, because he was going to be late to the music video shoot if he didn't hurry his ass up. The baritone's fingers slide across his iPhone with dizzying speed. A second later his order was placed. The app claimed that his ride would be there in ten minutes.

Plenty of time for him to panic.

Scott's jittery hands immediately flew to tear out his hair. What was he going to do? He couldn't sing! Not like this!

Actually, he _could_ sing. Just not in English.

Which was the language that _all of the damn Pentatonix songs were written in!_

The tall man's breaths quickened. He buried his hands in his pockets in order to keep himself from going bald. He really, really didn't want to try singing again, for if he did he feared he would launch into a full-scale panic attack. But he had to practice now, or else he was going to sound terrible no matter what language he was singing in.

"La tête dans les nuages, a obtenu aucun poids ser mes épaules!" Scott sang into the evening air, trying his best to speak English. Each time he shaped his mouth to form a Latin letter, however, the curse forced his lips to morph. "Je devrais être plus sage et réaliser que j'ai eu..." His strong voice faltered.

Because he knew nobody was going to send him a dirty look, Scott cursed loudly in French. He shouldn't have flirted with the attractive boy that owned neon blue hair; but how was he supposed to know that one, the poor guy wasn't out as gay yet, and two, that his insane maniac of a mother was against that kind of stuff? Plus, how was he supposed to know that said mother was some evil witch that could cast curses and that a curse like this existed?

Scott had had to avoid Mitch and his other friends the rest of the night last night, and slipped out of the apartment he shared with his best friend this morning in order to evade him and the cute crinkling of his dark eyebrows for the entire day today. He knew he should probably tell his best friend and his other band members what happened to him, yet shame filled his being each time the notion flitted through his bouncing thoughts. However, the music video shoot for PTX Volume III's cover song, _Problem,_ was this evening (in about an hour), and the baritone couldn't miss it. The mere thought of missing it seemed crazy.

But, oh, lord...he was never going to stop asking himself this question...how was he going to sing? _Problem_ was in English, a language that Scott had been cursed out of speaking. He was doomed.

The blonde's entire singing career would be ruined. He was going to condemn his band member's singing careers as well.

Not. Fucking. Cool.

Loud beeping startled the singer from his irritated haze. A sleek car pulled up to the curb right in front of him, looking high-quality and posh. Scott hadn't specifically requested the app to send him a nicer car, but he wasn't going to complain (especially in the nothing-is-going-my-way mood he was in). He bent down to talk to the driver (or at least try to talk to them) as said driver rolled down the tinted windows.

A well-manicured man with unblemished skin sat in the drivers seat. His eyebrows arched as he asked, "Are you Mr. Hoying?"

Scott paused, wondering if he should pretend to be deaf and attempt hand signals so that he wouldn't have to speak. However, this man seemed educated, if his strangely crisp outfit and slightly haughty expression were any indicator, so maybe he could talk to him and be understood.

"Oui." The baritone replied, nodding. "C'est moi."

"Ah." Was all the man said. He rolled the window back up. A second later, Scott heard the light click of the car doors unlocking. The tall singer opened the back door, climbed in, and then shut it solidly behind him. Scott crunched his legs, suddenly finding himself squashed, as the passenger seat was pulled all the way back. The driver noticed his discomfort and pressed a button. The seat came smoothly forward and made room for the blonde's long legs.

"Merci." Scott breathed, rubbing his previously suffocated knees.

The driver twisted in his seat so that he could peer at the singer. "Comprenes-vous l'anglais?"

His passenger blinked. Sure, the curse bound him to the French language, but he hadn't realized how fully it had done so. Every French word that escaped the man's mouth, he understood; yet he could also understand English. But he couldn't speak it. Why hadn't he noticed this perk before?

 _Because not everybody in America speaks French, Hoying._ Scott thought. He was lucky that his thoughts were still in English as well.

Scott tilted his head. "Oui. Je ne peux pas parler l'anglais bien."

The driver offered a tight smile and turned around. "Good. My French is slightly rusty. I prefer to speak in my native tongue. Now, where to?"

Speaking sharply (and thanking his lucky stars he had a driver who could understand him), the blonde gave the directions to a spot about two blocks away from the recording studio. Without complaint his driver complied, only flicking on the music and switching it to a French channel. As he closed in of his destination, Scott was again mystified by his ability to comprehend the foreign (although less so now) language; there were so many pretty songs in French he'd never heard of. Now he realized why Mitch had gone through his Japanese phase, as listening to songs in a different language from your own was just...refreshing.

The minutes passed in silence; usually Scott would be chatty and animated, but he was still uncomfortable and worried. When he got to the studio what would he do? They were recording an English song today. Like they did every day.

 _Forget that._ Scott thought, fighting the urge to curse out loud again. _How are you going to communicate with your band members, let alone sing the song?_

His worries plagued him for twenty solid minutes, during which he bit off his thumbnail.

"We're here." Scott tore his eyes away from the back of his drivers head to see the gaping recording studio sitting in front of him. Suspiciously he narrowed his eyes and asked (in French, no matter how hard he tried to speak the language he was raised to speak) how the man had known to drop him off here, because he sure as hell couldn't recall giving strict directions to the place.

"You gave me directions quite close to a studio." The driver shrugged. "This is the only studio around these parts. I took a wild guess."

Scott almost smiled; the sarcasm the man was providing strongly reminded him of his best friend's sass. At the thought of the slight brunette, however, any happy thoughts deflated. This mess was partially Mitch's fault. Maybe. Not really. Possibly.

Ugh. Just, ugh.

With the click of another button on the drivers part, Scott's door slid open. He heaved himself from the fashionable vehicle with the grace that came with his tall build. He observed as the passenger window rolled down, revealing his driver, who leaned over the steering wheel to speak to him.

"That'll be ten dollars, Mr. Hoying."

"Seulement dix?"

The driver smiled slightly. "You've got enough problems. I don't think robbery needs to become one of them." Scott handed him a ten dollar bill. "And I give the attractive costomer's discounts."

"Pardon." Scott gave a half-smile at the compliment and made a gesture that suggested a small body. "J'ai mes yeux fixés sur une petite brunette."

His driver (whom had hair that was pitch black with streaks of blue and carried a medium stature) scowled and began to roll up the window. "Figures. It's always the short brunette's." Was what the singer heard before the other man drove away.

* * *

Scott was learning how difficult it was to talk to people who only knew fluent English. Sure, he could understand them when they spoke, but trying to use his voice to reciprocate was just stupid.

When he first walked into the studio, he was greeted by the studio director's assistant. She was a frail, thin woman that had her hay-colored hair pulled back into a bun as tight as her smile. Her voice had a rasp to it when she spoke, first telling him hi and how was he doing and could she get him anything?

Since he couldn't speak in her tongue, there was a lot of head moving; which meant two polite nods and a simple shake of us head. The assistant, looking slightly miffed at the fact that she was worth so little she wasn't even addressed audibly, smiled another paper-thin smile and proceeded to check her clipboard.

"Since you don't require any accommodations, I think that I can leave you to your own devices. Mrs. Sterella already has everything planned out, she's just waiting for the rest of her crew to show so that she can begin to set up." The assistant paused to raise her equally paper-thin eyebrows at Scott's confused expression. She sighed. "Mrs. Sterella is the director." She let a single eyebrow fall, but kept her other in the air. "And she wants you to join your friends in the dressing rooms and stay there, please. She likes to keep everyone in one place. she'll send for you in...oh, around twenty minutes. Maybe less."

The baritone settled for nodding again, and the assistant nodded primly in return. Awkwardly, Scott moved passed her down one of the many halls. It took several guesses until he eventually found the right dressing room (just to double check, his eyes skimmed every English word he passed; but yes, he could still read them with no effort) and hesitated before opening the door.

Oh, god. What was he going to do? Just walk in and be like, _Hey, guys, I can't speak English because I was cursed out of doing so. Let's film Problem; you guys sing in English and I'll do my part in French! It'll be great!_

He couldn't even say _that_ ; guess what, IT WAS IN ENGLISH DAMMIT.

Should he act like he wasn't feeling well, like he had a sore throat? But then they'd assume he couldn't sing at all and the video would have to be postponed. The group had toiled so hard in order to get this particular day at the studio. He would throw that work out the window. Not to mention the fact that he was supposed to explain to Mitch why he'd disappeared for the entire day.

Steering himself, the twenty-two year old pushed opened the door.

Instantly the smell of Kirstin's perfume hit his nose; she must've been spraying herself with it in order to get rid of what she called the reek of the 'staleness of her new, sweaty-ass performance clothes'. There was a modest couch pushed to the corner of the plain room, with Kevin sitting on it and scrolling through his phone absently. Avi was standing beside Kirstie as she applied dark violet lipstick to her lips and smacked them like she always did. The sight was such a comfort. Scott took a deep breath, highly content for the brief moment.

Mitch stood in the middle of the room, dressed to perfection as he always was. His eyes were closed and he held a concentrated look on his face. It took the blonde a moment to realize that the smaller man was practicing; what was more, he was overviewing the rap part of _Problem,_ the part of the song that everybody agreed Mitch slayed at.

"Mitchie, Mitchie, too biggie to be here stressin' I'm thinking that I love the thought of you more than I love your presence-" He paused to take in air, still focused on his mutterings, which commenced at a speed so quick that Scott could barely keep up with him. "And the best thing now is probably for you to exit I let you go let you back and I finally learned my-"

The tiny countertenor glanced up as he heard the door hinge squeak, pausing in at the end of his verse. His gaze lit up when he saw his best friend standing there and he immediately called attention to the matter by yelling with unrestrained enthusiasm, " _Scott!_ " Mitch ran at the blonde, launching his body in such a way that said blonde nearly stumbled as he caught him.

High-pitched giggles wove through Scott's eardrums, a sound that made him smile. The brunette held on tightly (which really only coaxed the taller of the two to hug their bodies closer together) and buried his face into the broad shoulder awaiting him. Still locked in their embrace, Scott tilted his head down to lightly kiss Mitch's hair, finding himself unable to resist doing so.

"Hey, Scott. What kept you?" Avi's deep voice carried across the space to the pair. Kirstie rolled her tube of lipstick and smiled at him.

The baritone peeled his body from his best friend's (surprisingly unwillingly). He opened his mouth, an automatic gesture, caught himself, and closed it again. To his fellow bandmates, he seemed undecided. True, considering the mental battle now raging in his head. He chanced a look at Mitch; nothing but an expectant expression on his face, for he too was eager to find out what had taken his friend so long.

How were they going to understand him-

OH WAIT! He remembered now! Kirstin had taken French in high school (admittedly those days had passed not too long ago). She would understand him. Partially, at least. And could translate...maybe?

Nervously, Scott let out a simple explanation. "Je courais quelques courses. Je excuser mon retard."

Everybody in the room gave the baritone the weirdest look he'd ever been given in his entire life. Even Kevin was staring at him with a concerned gaze that suggested he might be going crazy.

But Scott knew he wasn't. He knew what he had said was correct. Just in a different language.

"Did you just call yourself a retard?" If anybody else on earth asked that question, it would've come off as an insult. However, Avi's tone was honest and worried. His green eyes reflected nothing save caution.

Kirstie, with a confused arch of her eyebrow, was the one who replied, preventing any more French from having to escape her friend. "I think he said something about running. And...he's sorry for being late?"

"Oui." The taller man replied as he nodded his head.

"How did you understand that, Kirstie?" Kevin asked incredulously. His phone now lay next to him, forgotten.

The only mezzo soprano in the room explained hurriedly? "We took French in high school. We passed with okay grades; Scott got a B+ in it. But I don't remember you being so easily fluent."

"Tu as raison. Je n'étais pas."

"What did he-"

"That I'm right and that he wasn't this fluent before." The sandy-haired singer seemed slightly irritated because she didn't understand why Scott wouldn't speak English. "Why won't you speak English?"

Everybody in the room grew surprised as a pink flush covered Scott's neck and a little of the heat gathered in his cheeks. The countertenor standing next to him was so familiar with his favored blonde that he knew it aspirated from embarrassment.

"Je ne peux pas." Oh, yeah, he was embarrassed; now the rose tint was morphing into the shade of a tomato. "Je le ferais si je pouvais. Mais je ne peux pas putain parle anglais." He reached up to rub his hot face with his hands.

Kirstie squinted and chose to respond to the only part she made sense of; Scott talked with such expertise that he rarely enunciated, like he had forgotten they couldn't comprehend his words...yet why could he comprehend theirs? "What do you mean you can't? What did you do all day today?"

A loud knock sounded on the door. Scott made a move to say, "Come in!" before Mitch settled a hand on his chest and raised an eyebrow, both as a warning and a reminder. The baritone tried not to start at the slight pressure.

Avi did the honors instead. "Come in!"

The door opened. It was the director, Mrs. Sterella. Her longish brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail and big black glasses made up a large portion of her face. With tan skin, short fingers, and a face that lacked wrinkles, she seemed to be much too young to be as popular of a director as she was. And...she looked oddly familiar. "Is Scott Hoying in the room? I'd like to speak to him before we start filming."

If Mitch, Avi, Kevin, and Kirstie had been puzzled before, now they were flat-out mentally screaming WTF; it showed in their expressions.

"Yeah, he's right here." The short brunette said uneasily, pointing to his best friend.

"Excellent. Come with me." Her tone was a strange forced kind of sweet that reminded Scott of his favorite countertenor's voice that was very sweet and not very forced and very, very attractive-

 _Ugh! Shut up, Hoying! He's the reason you're like this in the first damn place! Why are you thinking like that, anyway? Get your shit together._ The blonde mentally rolled his eyes at himself. He really didn't want to follow Mrs. Sterella (she gave off a weird vibe, like she knew something that he didn't) and her tight smile, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't even refuse her in a way that she would understand.

Giving the other four-fifths of Pentatonix a look that said, _I'll be fine,_ the tall man followed the director out of the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Now he was alone with this woman in the hallway.

Mrs. Sterella's fake smile immediately vanished. She reached forwards and grabbed a fistful of the baritone's shirt, ignoring his yelp of pain when her nails dug into his skin, and yanked him down the bland hallway until their voices couldn't be heard by anybody in they dressing room they had just left.

"All right, boy. I'm going to keep this quick. Listen up." The woman began lowly. "I know about what happened to you. I know that you're condemned to speak French."

Scott's blue eyes narrowed. "Comment?"

Mrs. Sterella huffed. "You're lucky that I know French better than I know English, kid. To put it shortly, my sister was the one who cursed you. It was my nephew you were flirting with. Ooh, you're _so, so_ lucky that I'm going to take mercy on you."

There were many questions that needed to be asked, that fizzled and crackled with curiosity, however the singer couldn't resist asked the one itching at the back of his mind. "Votre soeur est une sorciére et un barman?"

"Long story." The woman replied drily. "Turns out people prefer to kill their enemies with drugged alcohol rather than with magic. Anyway, I came to tell you more about your curse. But I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for my nephew; he begged me to help you, you urchin, so be grateful that you charmed him well enough and that I'm in a good mood today."

Scott would've cussed her out in French, but she could understand him, so that wouldn't end well on his behalf. Truly, he had no idea how his curse worked; all he knew was that it had been cast on him, and that he suddenly couldn't speak the language he was born to speak. He really did need answers and he had to find out if this curse could be broken. The blonde could barely picture himself having to be like this forever.

Mrs. Sterella must've noticed the stress evident in his gaze. Her own softened. "I'll tell you what's going to happen, kid, pay close attention as I'm not going to say this twice. You've been cursed to speak in French, the language of love, because you were attempting to seduce someone you 'desired'" She made air quotes here for some reason. "Don't try to lie to me and tell me you really lusted after my nephew. You hold somebody else in your heart, otherwise the curse wouldn't have stuck."

"Chanceux moi." The singer muttered sarcastically. Of course the curse stuck. Of course. Because why not.

The director continued like she hadn't heard him. "The curse morphs over time. Soon you will not be able to read English-" Shit. Just what he'd feared. "-or comprehend others when they talk in that tongue. As the curse wears on, you will also become more and more attracted to the person you love, lust after, whatever; your romantic feelings will spike around them-" That explained why he'd been so resistant to pull away from the hug he had shared with Mitch. Huh. That was slightly frightening. "-until you're more or less obsessed with them."

An uncomfortable shudder passed through his body. "S'il vous plaît me dire qu'il ya un moyen de briser la malédiction." There had to be a way. He couldn't...erm... _want_ Mitch for that long. It was unhealthy for anybody.

"There is." Mrs. Sterella fixed her ponytail primly. "You kiss the person you desire. A true kiss, full of meaning...although I'm sure it will be easy, considering you're already in love with the person you kiss. The other way is to fall out of love with the person of your desire. This is the more difficult of the two ways and takes longer because of your increased lure to your...person of interest. But nonetheless, it's up to you to decide."

The hall was beginning to fill with voices and people. They were bustling about, with papers or coffee or pens in their hands and only a few with headsets attached to their heads. Clear signs that the music video shoot was soon to begin.

Mrs. Sterella shook her head at the helpless man in front of her. "I'll cut you a straight deal, boy. I'll lie to your friends for you this once. But next time, if you ever return here again with that curse on you, you'll be on your own. Oh, by the way, those obsessive feelings I was telling you about? They should've started by now. So don't jump anybody on my set."

 _At least now I know what's going to happen to me._ The blonde thought. It did not reassure him.

Before he could ask what she meant and to protest that he wasn't going to jump anybody (well...), she had grabbed part of his shirt once more and was yanking him back the way they had come. She opened the door to the Pentatonix dressing room herself and stepped inside after Scott had made his way in.

Everybody's positions had changed; now the four members that had been left in there originally were now gathered around the couch, Kirstie and Kevin sitting cross-legged on the floor. The tallest of the quintet found his eyes seeking Mitch, and when they found their objective, he allowed his shoulders to relax. The brunette sent him a half-confused, half-content glance.

"Hello, thank you so much for waiting for your friend." Mrs. Sterella's false smile had returned, now with a newer bite. "Him and I had a conversation just outside right now. We've come to an agreement that because of his...ah, inability to speak English, I've decided to cancel your shoot."

Kevin shot up from the floor with a sharp intake of breath. Scott's face changed to one full of horror. He hadn't thought that canceling the shoot was what she meant by saying she'd lie for him! She couldn't do that!

"Quelle?" He sputtered. "Vous ne dites pas-"

"Je vous ai dit que je me couchais pour vos amis." She cut him off smoothly. For once, the blonde was glad he could understand French; his friends did not need to hear the words of their betrayal passing between the two. "Permettez-moi donc."

She gave him a dagger-like glare, forcing him into silence, and then turned to the group before her. Kirstie's eyebrows were furrowed as she tried to make sense of the fast-spoken words. But she couldn't. The two muttered too quickly.

"You can't be serious. We've been waiting for this video to be filmed for weeks now." Mitch picked himself up from his position on the couch and folded his arms in front of him (obviously emitting an air like royalty). He squinted at the director. "You can't kick us out yet."

"You're right." Mrs. Sterella agreed much to the countertenor's shock. He'd expected a fight. "Instead of filming _Problem_ , I will allow your group to pick any other song of your choosing, so long as it is in French. You'll sing that instead."

During her short speech, Scott had walked across the room and now faced his group of friends. They were all sorts of different levels of pissed off, but he was hoping the would listen to him.

"Papaoutai." The baritone said. Mitch's eyes lit up in recognition, an adorable feat.

"I know that song!" The shorter man replied. "You listen to it all the time-well, _we_ listen to it all the time. You always made me dance to it with you."

"What's Papaoutai?" Avi asked, also getting up from the sofa. His green eyes morphed into a hazel as he spoke in response to his mood.

"It's a French song by this guy that Scott's totally obsessed with-"

"Vous." Scott interrupted without thinking. He playfully shoved his friend's arm and paired it with a teasing smile. Mitch stopped abruptly, unsure what the word meant, though by the actions of the blonde it might've been good.

"Um. So...what's the guys name? Stromae." He continued after an awkward pause. Scott's smile fell as he realized, oh yeah, he'd said it in French, so the joke would be lost. "Right. It's all about this boy who's neglected by his dad or something like that. Sis knew all the words back when she 'decided' she wanted to speak English. But now since she can speak fluent French, she should know it better than the back of her hand. And I could teach Kirstie the chorus. It could work." Mitch touched the taller man's arm gently, sending shivers down said mans spine that he tried to hide. "You still know the song, right?"

"Oui."

"Great." Mrs. Sterella broke in. Almost everybody started; she'd been so quiet they'd forgotten she was there. "I'll need you all to follow me, then; you need to have your makeup and hair done. What's the theme of the video, Mr. Hoying?"

He pondered for a moment, biting his lip. That made him think about his lips. Pressing those lips to another set of lips. Preferably the set of lips belonging to the short man standing next to him. Preferably right now-

 _Fuck_. Scott had to stop thinking about Mitch or else he'd get too distracted and then...dangerously pleasurable things would happen.

"Dolls." The French word sounded English enough that the rest of Pentatonix could comprehend what he was saying. "Nous devrions regarder comme des poupées. Comme Stromae."

Mrs. Sterella nodded. "Very well. I can have everything ready in about-"

"Attendez!" Tilting his head towards Kirstie, the blonde said his next words slowly and deliberately. "Tout le monde est ok avec ce?"

The mezzo mulled over the phrase in her brain for a second. "He's asking if we're okay with changing the song. Are we okay with it?"

"Yeah." Kevin replied instantly. "If it's what Scott can sing right now. If you show us the original so, maybe I could even play my cello." He paused, another idea coming to mind. "What if we got Lindsey to do it with us? Like in _Radioactive._ Her violin would be great."

The director shook her head. "I'd have to film her portion separately. For now, I'd recommend your cello be the only instrument you play, because it's the sole string instrument we have on hand. I'm sure it will be of a high enough quality for you to use." She examined her fingernails haughtily. Satisfied, she snapped her fingers at the group. "Now, come along. I have another shoot in two hours and this change of plans has disrupted my other ones. Follow me."

As she led Pentatonix out of the room, Scott reached over (again, not thinking) to hold Mitch's hand tightly. The brunette, though previously disgruntled in his best friend's choice not to speak in English, pressed his body against the baritone's side. Warmth radiated from the smaller man like a heater. Addicting and comforting all at the same time.

Scott passed Mrs. Sterella, the sister of the witch who had cursed him, and met her gaze. He didn't have to talk aloud to get his message across.

 _This curse will be broken. Tonight._

* * *

Avi and Kevin caught onto the song shockingly quickly. It took about five times of the pair listening to it as makeup artists transformed their skin from non-reflective to porcelain, but they worked out the rhythm section by the time their faces had been finished. The beat boxer had mimed playing his cello as they went. They sounded amazing without the instrument.

Mitch had taught Kirstin the backup vocals in thirty minutes (a record for them), since their part in the song wasn't too difficult considering neither knew fluent French. The real show was when Scott himself sang a few verses for practice as his cheeks were made hollow and wooden with dark brown tones.

 _Où est ton papa?_

 _Dis-moi où est ton papa?_

 _Sans même devoir lui parler_

 _Il sait ce qui be va pas_

His voice, now developing a bit of an accent, was strong and clear. Everybody quieted to hear him sing, and when he was done it was as if a pause button was hit and the motion and noise in the room resumed. The countertenor he was in love with smiled at him and made his stomach twist and his heart beat wildly. Scott smiled back softly.

Breaking this curse was going to be easy. He just had to walk right up to his best friend of twelve years and kiss him. Not putting their friendship on the line, not throwing caution to the wind, not potentially ruining everything for Pentatonix one little bit (sure). The blonde felt almost like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White; a single kiss would set him free, if he was brave enough to get it over with.

He prayed that he was.

"Ready to go?" Mitch asked, wagging his eyebrows. This caused Scott to laugh, in turn provoking a giggle to escape his own mouth. To keep it simple, the baritone nodded.

"Alright then! You all seem to be prepared enough." Mrs. Sterella appeared in front of them with a clipboard. "You will all be standing right there-" She gestured to a wide green screen in front of the singers. They'd exited the makeup room a few minutes beforehand and were now awaiting initial instructions in front of the director. "-and you'll move like dolls. Spastically, but not like robots. Our special effects team will be sure to edit the footage in a way that has you appear even more puppet-like than you already look."

It was true. They all did look like puppets or dolls made of painted glass. Kevin and Kirstie really sold the part, for the former held a borrowed cello at his side stiffly, and the latter had her hair done in long pinkish curls.

The woman in charge told them where to stand and how to stare sightlessly into the camera (slightly creepy advice, but it helped) and was about to call for them to begin.

Suddenly, Scott threw a hand up to stop her.

She raised a challenging eyebrow at him (that he ignored) and he pivoted to his left, where Mitch stood. His blood rushing to his neck to color it red underneath all of the makeup, he stepped towards his best friend and gave him a light kiss on the lips. The baritone's body tingled and sparked, and when he pulled away to see the shocked look on the brunette's features, something inside of his brain clicked into place.

"W-What was that for?" The tinier of the two seemed to be at war with himself. Should he step closer (that kiss had been one hell of one, even if it had been short) or lean further away to convey that...that he...wait a freaking second, why was Scott grinning like that?

Grinning like a fool, the blonde said, _in English, thank god,_ "I have a crush on you." He coughed. It was odd, the letters rolling off of his tongue and the way his lips shaped to form words. Weird, almost.

There was a collective gasp from Avi, Kevin, and Kirstie. Their systems couldn't take the new info and were close to going into overload. Yeah, the two best friends liking each other was obvious, but them _kissing!?_ Who would've thought?

"Huh? Since when?" Mitch's eyelashes fluttered. Had he been that oblivious? "Wait. You can speak English!"

"Yup. All thanks to you. It's your fault I had to speak French in the first place."

" _My_ fault? _What_ _happened_ last night at that bar?"

"Long story." Scott echoed Mrs. Sterella's words. "Turns out flirting with boys in order to get my mind off of you wasn't such a great idea."

"I am so confused right now." Mitch brought his fingers up to rub his temples. His mouth was still tingling from the kiss. "Please just tell me you'll explain later...and maybe do that thing again."

"What thing, Mitchie?" Oh, but taunting his crush in his mother tongue was ever so much fun.

"That thing where you put your mouth on mine." Was the devilishly shy response. "Actually, I've forgotten what it feels like. Refresh my memory, babe."

"Gladly." Scott leaned down, wound an arm around the countertenor's waist and kissed him once more, proper and long.

Avi cleared his throat loudly. The pair pulled apart. "We've got to get to work you guys. You know, like filming a music video."

Mrs. Sterella said, "I agree. And, Scott, I'll tell my sister of your...acheivement. Nobody's broken your predictment so quickly." There was muttering amongst the quintet (Mitch was a little dizzy, yet he could still focus) about 'Scott's predictment'. They were halted as the director spoke again. "Alright, settle down. Ready?"

"Oui." Scott winked at Kirste. She merely rolled her eyes at him, the action not holding any actual irritation. "Yeah, we're ready."

"Excellent. One, two, three, begin!"


	19. Interrupted

**Hey, y'all! Your weekly oneshot has arrived! I have to throw a little bit of a disclaimer in here; the beginning has some light slash. I haven't really written anything too slashy so far and felt the urge to, though this short story isn't _too_ wild and crazy. Still, tell me if you think I should keep writing some boy/boy love every now and then!**

 **The summary: Mitch and Scott are stressed to the max and haven't spent any quality time with each other in weeks. When the chance finally comes for them to show some affection, they grab it. But maybe they should've picked somewhere a tad more private, since Avi Kaplan decides to interrupt them right when it's getting good. He is now scarred for life.**

 **Thank you for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Happy reading!**

* * *

Blood rushed southward when Mitch lightly sucked Scott's bottom lip, making the taller man groan and hug his boyfriend closer. His hand gripped the back of the brunette's shirt when his lips were pried apart and explored; he couldn't get enough of that sweet tongue that the young Grassi possessed. Mitch's breath hitched as he felt the warmth of fingers hook around the loops of his jeans and tug at his hips.

They kissed each other harder, past patience and waiting and eager for fun, the electricity between them jumping several notches. Scott, unable to help himself, lifted his lover from underneath his legs and held him up against the nearby wall. Brooms and buckets clanked merrily nearby, but neither man could be brought to care the slightest bit, too involved in each other to notice.

Breaking away to breathe, Mitch smiled into the darkness of the room they were in. "Is Daddy a little..." He nuzzled the baritone's neck, turning his head to whisper the next word in his ear. "... _excited?_ "

He yanked his boyfriend's shirt over his head, a process that took a moment to achieve, yet once it was done the countertenor's hands were all over the blonde's abdomen, tracing gentle patterns and thin lines and deft circles.

It only made Scott's pants tighten further. "God, that's feels good, Mitch." Was what escaped him with a pleased sigh.

The two were enjoying a rare moment of privacy that they had stumbled upon during their short break. Currently on tour, it was seldom that the pair had any serious romantic interaction whatsoever these days. Not in a hotel room (since they were always tired as shit), not on a plane (the countertenor was always too strung out from the ride because he held a special loathing for planes deep down inside), and almost never during rehearsal, save the occasional kiss or peck on the cheek. If they ever got carried away in public (or in front of the rest of their friends) without noticing, they'd be interrupted by a loud cough or clearing of somebody's throat, forcing them to peel apart.

No wonder why Scott and Mitch were so grumpy afterwards.

For the past few weeks it had been nothing but practicing and more practicing and more and more and nonstop going going going. Stress weighed heavily on Scott's shoulders and he tried to ignore it, only succeeding in becoming ever more irritable. Forget the fact that he hadn't made out with Mitch in weeks; he barely had the time to have more than a ten minute conversation with him. It was borderline bogus.

But now the couple had scored a chance; rehearsal for the show that night had been paused for a late lunch break. The baritone had been planning on sitting down by the stage to talk with Kirstin about not being able to show affection to his significant other, but Mitch had walked up to him with a glint in his eyes.

Linking hands, they had rushed off away from the group in order to find a hiding spot, which ended up being an old closet that was probably used by the janitor (surprise, surprise). So while they were hooking up, Scott had to be careful not to bump his head on a shelf, and his counterpart had to make sure he didn't trip over a bucket, because apparently there was no light switch in the damn room. However...

They hadn't been found yet, and wished mightily to keep it that way.

Disconnecting his mouth from his boyfriends, Scott whispered, "How long until we have to-" He sucked in a sharp breath, for Mitch had shifted his position on the wall and had accidentally rubbed his excitement against the blondes. His next words were said in a higher octave than the previous ones. "-get back to rehearsal?"

"Hmm..." Mitch hummed, his eyes half closed. A forgetful fog was starting to invade his brain. "Lunch is half an hour, usually." He tilted his head upwards to press his lips to Scott's firmly. "Maybe..." They kissed again. "Twenty minutes or so. But they'll have to find us first."

A smirk that the countertenor couldn't see was the response. Hands in the dark began to pull Mitch's shirt over his head, eliciting a shudder from his partner when he was allowed to touch the warm, smooth skin there. Scott's fingers traveled freely, tracing along the brunette's rib cage, all the while cupping his cheek to hold his face in place as their mouths danced passionately.

This is what they needed. _This_ was stress relief.

"So beautiful..." Scott murmured. Mitch smiled against his lips.

"You can't even see me, silly."

"I don't need to." He returned. "I can feel you and taste you. That's enough." It was true; the unique flavor of his boyfriends hot little mouth and the heat that his skin radiated was almost overpayment for the lack of light in the closet. The combination of the two was swiftly making him high.

Feeling slightly bolder than usual, Mitch reached his hand downwards and placed it on the center of the taller man's jeans. Scott was caught between a hiss and a moan at the contact. His hips involuntarily bucked into the countertenor's palm.

"Right there?" Mitch teased. He loved when he could hold sexual power over his lover. It was kind of fun since he rarely got to do so.

"Y-Yes!" The blonde's eyes threatened to roll back into his head as the shorter of the two began to rub the spot achingly slowly. "R-R-Right th-there!" Sparks were setting themselves off in his stomach like sizzling fireworks, infectious, spreading throughout the rest of his body. A blush rose to his neck and face.

The brown-eyed singer bit his lip to stifle a wicked grin when Scott continued to commend him. He moved his hand unexpectedly.

"Oh _god!_ " Yelped the baritone as pure pleasure shot to the space in between his legs. "N-N-Not f-fair, M-Mit-ch-ch-ch!"

"If I'm not playing fair..." Mitch purred, increasing the speed of his rubbing. Scott moaned his approval. "Let's even out the score. Help me with these?" He used his available hand to grab one of his partners and place it on his front pocket.

The point was understood. Within a second, the countertenor's pants were removed, along with his shoes. So was his hand, at least for an instance, and the momentary loss of contact had Scott holding in a whine. His pants were now uncomfortably tight.

Damn Mitch.

But as quickly as it had gone, the hot pleasure returned when the brunette wound his arms around his boyfriend's neck and began to grind into him. Since Mitch was being held against the wall, it allowed the taller man to get a firm grip on his hips and grind back with equal enthusiasm.

"Scott..." The smaller man breathed, almost unable to comprehend the delicious friction being created when their hips met. In response his partner made sure his next thrust was a little more forceful than the last. A guttural moan was his reward.

Though his hands trembled, Mitch slipped his left between them in order to unbutton and unzip the other singer's jeans. The feeling of prodding fingers around his arousal choked a gasp out of Scott. He pressed his lips to Mitch's, now getting into a rhythm.

It was too much. It was too good. The heat, the sweat, the desire, it was dizzying and enticing all at the same time-

Suddenly, the door handle jiggled silently. Neither man noticed, still kissing without abandon, wrapped up in the moment. It wriggled and they paid it no mind.

It wasn't until the closet door swung open that the pair finally gave their attention.

Light from the hallway poured into the small space, illuminating the person who stood in the doorway, who was none other than...

"Jesus!" Avi Kaplan's eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

Scott and Mitch broke apart. Immediately they realized that they had been found; not only hooking up, but to make matters even more embarrassing, they were in the _middle_ of hooking up. The brunette's hand was in his boyfriend's pants, both singers were shirtless (and the shorter of them was without bottoms), and they were flushed a violent pink.

"Oh god-" The countertenor extracted his fingers with lightning speed and jumped behind Scott to shield his state of undress. The baritone stood in front of his partner in a protective stance, his blue eyes slightly unfocused but sharpening as the seconds ticked on.

"What are you guys _doing?_ " The bass had averted his gaze as he asked the obvious question. "Zip up your pants, I don't need to see that."

Scott realized that his hard-on was very visible since the front of his pants was left open. He knew that it was pointless to try and redress as his bottoms would be too tight due to the problem going on downstairs. His frame began to tremble, an after effect of the adrenaline sprinting through his veins. "W-What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you two. You didn't tell anybody where you went and our lunch break is almost over." Avi deliberately rubbed at his eyes. "Oh, god, my eyes burn. I've been scarred for life."

"Privacy for the queen would be nice!" Mitch called from behind his boyfriend. His tone was a higher pitch than usual; he was embarrassed but irritated at the discovery.

"Right. Right, sorry. I'll be waiting outside to make sure no one else comes in. Jesus." The bearded man shook his head, grabbed the door handle, and the door flew closed. Instantly the closet was plunged into darkness.

Shakily, the blonde exhaled. "Shit. He startled me."

"Same." The countertenor whispered, audibly breathing out. He bent at the waist and started to feel at the floor for his clothes. His pinkie brushed something wet and slimy. "Eww! Do _not_ touch the floor, there's some sort of sticky crap."

An awkward laugh sounded. "I wasn't planning on it, Mitchie." The taller singer ran a nervous hand through his hair to steady himself. He mimicked Avi and wiped underneath his eyes, still shaking and attempting to keep his mind off of the activity he had paused in doing.

The shorter man bravely swept his fingers across the dirty (and wet) floor and stopped at the texture of cotton. Scott's shirt. He handed it to its owner wordlessly and continued to root for his own garments (finding shit in the dark was difficult). He found them a minute later, conveniently resting an inch or two away from each other. Both men dressed in relative silence, save another "Ew." That Mitch expressed when he discovered the end of his long-sleeve shirt was damp.

"I think we're being really awkward right now because we were caught." The best friends had been through so much together that there was pretty much nothing they got ashamed over; this time things were a little weird when they were found because they weren't just kissing. Mitch's hand had been down Scott's _pants,_ for fuck's sake. And not anybody had seen them, no, it had to be _Avi_.

"I...agree." A pitchy tone responded after thinking over his answer. "Ugh, my stupid pant leg got wet too. Hell."

Fumbling with the last piece of his ensemble that would make his outfit complete (as in, his zipper. The blonde was struggling with his zipper. He forced sad images into his brain in order to calm his ever-present excitement.), Scott said, "At least it wasn't Kevin."

"You're right. He would've wanted to douse us in holy water. Or made us sing prayers until we lost our voices." There was no sarcasm in the last two sentences. It was completely true.

Avi waited on the opposing side of the door, wondering what was taking the pair so long. The lunch break had been called to end early. Kirstie and Kevin were easy to find since they had picked to sit by the stage and chat. Avi had talked to Esther instead, mostly about allowing Pentatonix to have more resting time. But it was time to begin rehearsal and the baritone and countertenor seemed to have vanished into thin air. The bassist was sent to look for them, merely opening doors at random, before he stumbled upon them doing...er... _things._

Finally the door to the janitors closet opened. Scott exited first with a red blush painted across his cheeks. Mitch followed him with a slightly less bold hue of pink lighting up his features.

Avi shook his head and began to walk. "Yup. I've been scarred all right. You two have taken my youthful innocence and tossed it aside."

"Are you kidding?" The tallest of the trio protested, grabbing Mitch's hand and flushing even darker. "You're, what, four years older than us? How are you _innocent?_ "

"Well, in all of my being _four years older_ than you, I've never seen two grown men making out in a janitors closet." The deep voice replied without missing a beat. "Nothing close to that. Ever."

The small brunette's mouth twitched despite himself. "Thank you, Avi, for telling us that you have no sex life."

Scott went "Oooooh..." and covered his grin with the hand not intertwined with his boyfriend's. The bearded man gave a small smile at the sass.

"You know nothing about my sex life or who's part of it."

The three men rounded the corner just as Mitch said matter-of-factly, "It's nonexistent...and I'm going to say Kevin if it actually does exist."

The stage was set up as it usually was, nothing too extravagant but carrying a bit of a flare. The crew members and tech people milled about, some with headsets and some with papers. Kirstie and Kevin were messing around, she purposely singing _Say Something_ terribly and Kevin beat boxing to her screeches. As the lost members approached them, they burst into giggles in the middle of the horrid rendition.

"Mitch and Scott corrupted me!" Avi announced loudly, pointing at the culprits.

"Avi doesn't have a sex life!" The tiniest person of the quintet yelled just as loudly.

"Not cool, Mitch."

"Ah, but the queen always gets revenge, peasant. She always does."

"Relax, you two." Scott managed to say through his breathless laughs. "Hi Kirstie, hey Kevin. Are we ready to start?"

"We were ready to start ten minutes ago, but you were too busy-mmmrphhh!" The low tone was cut off by a hand muffling it. Mitch smiled at the confused mezzo and vocal percussionist as he pressed his hand tighter against the bearded man's mouth.

"What Avi was _trying_ to say was...Scott and I were...um. We were..." He struggled to come up with a suitable lie.

The blonde spoke for him. "We were practicing. Together. As we ate lunch. Also together."

The only girl of the group furrowed her eyebrows. Kevin gave her an equally confused look.

"How was your lunch?" She asked tentatively, fiddling with the microphone in her hand. A stand of hair got in her line of sight and she flicked it.

"It was great. Until Avi barged in."

"Yeah, he wanted to steal Scott's sausage. Babe was waiting to take it out of his lunchbox and let me have some, but apparently Avi wanted a bite or two." The short man patted the bassist's head. "Isn't that right?"

Scott and Mitch sent their friend a certain look they reserved for drunks who decided to get too touchy-feely with them at bars. The blue-eyed singer's was dangerous and challenging, whilst his brown-haired companion wore an expression sickeningly sweet; a sugared candy with its center being rat poison. Avi knew his 'jig' was up.

He rolled his green orbs, but nonetheless nodded. Mitch removed his hand.

"O-kaaay. Um." Kevin cleared his throat. "This is slightly awkward and I don't know why. Should we get on with rehearsal? We need to go over the choreography for _Can't Sleep Love_ at least one more time, I keep switching spots with the wrong person. I'm supposed to change places with Scott, right?"

"Yeah." The baritone sighed easily. Thank god that was over with. Now, to move on a to a regular rest of the day-

"SCOTT AND MITCH WERE MAKING OUT IN A JANITOR'S CLOSET!" Avi yelled. Everybody in the room (which was quite a few people) turned their heads and took notice. Kirstie's mouth took on an 'o' shape in her surprise, and Kevin held a hand to his heart.

"You guys were _what?_ " The beat boxer wheezed. "With all of us right outside?"

" _AVI!_ " Mitch shrieked in such a high pitch that the word was probably a whistle note. He lunged at the bass's checkered shirt in order to shake him senseless. The menace was fast enough to dodge the swipe and clever enough to know he should run. He got all of two steps before the seething countertenor gave chase.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!" Avi ran for his life, swerving to avoid colliding with people or objects. Mitch could be seen sprinting after him looking ready to kill.

The three group members left behind heard Mitch scream, "I AM GOING TO _MURDER_ YOU!"

Kevin held back the urge to face palm. "We're not going to finish rehearsal, are we?"

Scott shrugged. "If Mitch doesn't tear Avi's eyes from their sockets, I'd say they'll get tired in fifteen."

"AAAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH! MY EYES!"

"Never mind." The baritone said, glancing at the hall in which Avi's voice had resonated from. "They'll be back in two minutes."


	20. The Absolute Worst Luck

**MY READERS! I missed y'all! Here's your next oneshot!**

 **The summary; Scott has been planning to take his new boyfriend on the best date. They'd go to a fancy restaurant, talk about anything and everything, and then they'd lay out under the stars and sing. However, the baritone doesn't know that he has the worst luck ever.** **And the universe likes to pick on the unlucky for fun. Therefore absolutely nothing is going to go according to plan.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Happy reading!**

* * *

Scott had been planning the date for weeks.

It was simple; he would take his boyfriend Mitch out for dinner at a nice Greek place, they'd sip wine and talk and laugh, and afterward the baritone would surprise the one he cared for most with a song underneath the stars. Though the event had sounded a little cheesy at first, once Scott had really gotten into putting it together, he gradually warmed up to the idea. The evening would be romantic and amazing.

He wanted to impress the small countertenor very much; after all, the pair had been officially together for two weeks now, and this date would only be their second within that span of time. The first hadn't really been a _date,_ per say, as it consisted of Mitch and Scott sitting down at Starbucks one morning and drinking coffee to their hearts content. Towards the end of it they had kissed, and the atmosphere had turned from comfortable into slightly awkward since the two were still getting used to such intimate contact between them. And it wasn't that they didn't _like_ kissing...it was just sort of weird because they knew each other as best friends, not as partners.

One afternoon, the blonde had taken Kirstin aside and told her about the strange feelings. She had advised him to go slow and not rush things, ask for consent if things got too serious (which Scott knew he would've done anyway), and be careful yet have fun. Relationships weren't supposed to feel strained.

Her friend had assured her that neither of them felt that way at all. Hell, whenever Mitch so much as whispered something in his taller companions ear, said taller companion got shivers down his spine. They both craved contact with each other. They just didn't know how to go about fulfilling their desires.

But tonight would be different.

Tonight was going to be perfect.

"Babe, which suit should I wear?" A high-pitched voice inquired from Scott's bedroom. The owner of the voice stepped outside for a moment, a towel wrapped around his thin waist: Mitch held up two different suits, one black, the other a cream-like tan.

The baritone knew his boyfriend would look stunning in either. "Both would look great on you."

"Thanks." The brunette said shyly. "But seriously, which one?"

"Hmm...the tan one. Everybody wears black."

Mitch nodded at the logic. "Good point." He dove back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Scott rolled his eyes fondly. For fourteen days, the small man had left his own living space in order to spend the nights with his new partner. However, this did not mean that Queen Mitch spent any less time in the restroom, and tended to reign over the master bathroom for unheard of amounts of time as he got ready.

The blonde adjusted the collar of his own red outfit and checked his watch, saying loudly, "We leave in twenty minutes, Mitchie! Hurry up!"

"GIVE ME MY TIME!" Was what was yelled sassily back. "THE QUEEN WILL TAKE AS LONG AS SHE DAMN PLEASES, SIR!"

A chuckle escaped Scott's mouth. The evening was moving along nicely: the countertenor was under the impression that they were going to a friendly formal dinner with the rest of Pentatonix to celebrate the release of their new album. Avi was in on the plan, and had actually called his friend not an hour earlier to inform him that he and Kevin would be at the restaurant waiting for them (the bass and his beat boxer companion were early to everything). Of course Mitch had believed him and was still clueless.

Plopping his body on the couch, the tall man resigned himself to the task of waiting for only god knew how long. After ten minutes of scrolling through his phone, however, he soon bored and decided (because he had nothing better to do) to check the weather app.

He already knew what the weather was supposed to be that night; luckily, there would be not a cloud in the sky, it would be warm, and with a slight breeze. Perfect. Better than perfect. It could've been worse, too, maybe a harsh wind here and there or thick humidity hanging in the air, but certainly nothing as bad as-

The baritone covered his mouth to stifle his horrified gasp. _Rain?_ It was going to motherfucking _rain_ in half an hour? What the hell! Wait a minute, did that say... _70% percent chance of thunderstorms?!_

Oh, god, no!

Scott sprang up from his seat and began to pace. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, trying to take deep breaths so he wouldn't hyperventilate and pass out. Ok. Ok. He could fix the kink in the hose; it was just a bit of bad luck. So they couldn't watch the stars that night, and they would have to go somewhere else. But where?

"Lizzy, are you okay?"

"Ah!" The tall man jumped about a foot in the air. He clutched at his heart as his gaze met Mitch's concerned orbs. "You scared the crap out of me."

"I can see that." Smiling, the brunette walked over to his partner and, tentatively, kissed him on the cheek. The action sent a electrical shock to Scott's system. "I'm terrifying, aren't I? Maybe I could work at one of those haunted houses. It could be my new fall job."

It was now that the blonde noticed that Mitch was now fully dressed in his suit. The light color of the fabric contrasted his dark hair and eyes, making each asset strikingly bold. Since the cloth was semi-tight it hugged his petite waist and granted his shoulders a sharp edge. Add in the sparkling black dress shoes, sliver cufflinks, and a matching cream tie...damn. If the best friends had never met, the man with blue eyes might've wolf-whistled at the sight of the smaller man.

Scott wrapped his arms around his partner and pulled him close. In response the countertenor giggled, reaching up to lace his fingers behind a pale neck. Yes, the pair were still wary of showing affection, but that didn't mean they didn't try.

"You look amazing." The baritone hummed, nuzzling the space right below Mitch's ear. Appreciation rolled off of the singer in waves. "Ready to go?"

Despite knowing it was going to pour, Scott was determined to have an excellent night. It was only a little water, and mere water was not enough to spoil the evening.

"Take me away, Mr. Hoying." The brown-eyed man said teasingly. "My good looks are in your hands."

* * *

"I'm sorry?" Scott said pointedly. His tone was quickly transforming into one of irritation, something he was attempting to prevent, yet to no avail. The rain was bad enough. Now he had to deal with _this?_

"You don't have any reservations here, sir." The consultant returned primly. She was a young woman with piercing grey eyes and slick salt-and-pepper hair. And she was almost as annoyed as her customer was.

The baritone would not give up. "Ma'am, I've had reservations for this place for four weeks. How is my name not on the list?"

Mitch, who was standing next to his partner while holding his hand, squeezed his fingers gently. A silent message not to get too crazy. He had been overjoyed and excited when he realized the evening was going to be just the two of them, if his happy grin was any evidence. Currently, water droplets decorated his hair like glistening jewels, evidence of walking through the light drizzle present outside. He assured Scott that as long as no water got on his suit (thankfully he'd worn a coat) he would remain satisfied.

"Allow me to check one more time." The consultant restrained a sigh and skimmed over the thick volume in front of her. "You're Scott Hoying?"

"Yes."

"It says here that someone else bought your table about three days ago. They were willing to pay one hundred dollars more than you in exchange for your window seat. I apologize, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She replied stiffly, not sounding at all apologetic.

The blonde quietly fumed. "Please, ma'am. Is there any way to get a table? Any way at all?"

"We're full tonight, as you would imagine. Hmm..." She slowly flipped through her book. "Well, there is one table available. But only one. It's located right next to the kitchen. Do you wish to sit there?"

 _No._ Scott wanted the table that he had paid for. The table that had a great view of the glowing street and the lush park located a block or so away.

"I'll take it." He finally relented.

The pair were led throughout the fancy restaurant all the way to the back. It smelled of freshly-cooked _gyros_ , _fasolada_ that had just been brewed, and pretty much made Mitch and Scott's mouths water. Like a lot.

When they reached their table, the taller man (being the gentleman that he was) took his boyfriend's coat and pushed in his chair for him. The brunette thanked him for doing so. Soon they were presented with glasses of wine and slices of pita bread to start their meal.

The movements and bustling taking place in the kitchen were loud. Almost too loud to be heard over. Scott would start a conversation, but be interrupted by the accidental smash of a plate being dropped, or the long sizzle of a flame rising from the grill.

Mitch's eyebrows scrunched together. He twisted in his seat to glance behind him into the kitchen as he heard somebody drop glass. "You'd think they wouldn't drop so much stuff back there. I wonder if they're training somebody new."

"Probably. That sounded expensive." Scott took a short drink of his alcohol. At that moment the waiter appeared before them with a pen and pad of paper.

The blonde ordered the _pastitsio_ , a dish that on the menu seemed to resemble lasagna, while his counterpart chose _kotosoupa_ , a broth that apparently was the Greek version of chicken soup. The waiter nodded at them and disappeared to he kitchen (which was two feet away).

"I'm sorry it has to be raining outside. I thought the weather was going to be at least decent." The baritone said sincerely. A harsh crack of thunder boomed in confirmation. He winced. "I guess after this we'll have to go home."

"That's okay." The brunette soothed, placing his hand on top of his counterpart's. "The dinner is enough. It was really sweet of you to think of this." He paused to breathe in the scent of the place. "And everything smells like heaven."

Scott absentmindedly brought Mitch's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "I just wish we could've gotten the table by the window. The view is spectacular."

"Yeah." The smaller man mused, flustered from the kiss and peeking at his boyfriend from underneath his eyelashes. "So is the view over here."

Shaking his head and fighting back a smile, the blue-eyed man opened his mouth to shoot a response, but he never got the chance.

"Watch out, coming through!" A young waiter, maybe in his teen years, stumbled from the kitchen clearly holding his tray the wrong way. The food on the tray, Scott realized, was the food that he and Mitch had ordered; said food (steaming noodles and piping hot soup) was surely going to slide off. The waiter, a skinny boy with freckles and dirty blonde hair, spun and tried to regain his footing while saving the food in the process.

However, it seemed that neither one nor the other was going to happen. The teen took a single false step, wobbled, and the two dishes finally toppled off of the tray.

 _Landing on Mitch's head._

A high-pitched scream of pain echoed throughout the restaurant. Mitch immediately stood up and shut his eyes so that no liquid that wasn't natural could enter them. The soup _burned like the pits of hell_ as it soaked his hair and stained his suit, traveling down his neck and onto his back. His head throbbed at the spot the bowl and plate had hit.

The brunette reached on top of his head, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming again, and extracted the plate that was slipping across his now soup-drenched hair. The pasta and the sauce that went with it dribbled on his cheeks and tie.

Scott shot from his own chair. He snatched the two napkins from the table, barked to the teen, "Get a towel or something! Now!" and helped as best he could by mopping up the hot liquid and gross pasta.

"Ow. Ow!" Mitch whimpered. The blonde was being as gentle as he could. He could see tears gathering in the countertenor's eyes, pooling and then spilling over.

His tiny body shuddering, the singer turned pleadingly to the person in the world that knew him best. "I-I...it's too hot. I need to wash it all off. S-Scott." The baritone gave his utter and complete attention, his own eyes sorry and full of remorse. "We need to get out of here. I need to get in the rain."

Sighing half-angrily and half in resignation, Scott took his love by the arm and guided him carefully. The clumsy waiter, for his part, fetched a large clean towel from the kitchen and handed it to the taller man as the pair exited. Many people stared, for they had heard Mitch shriek earlier and wished to find the cause of the commotion in they usually low-key atmosphere. He cursed the horrible luck he was having that day. Would nothing be at least mildly alright?

Thunder and water roared in Scott's ears the moment he stepped outside and the door slammed behind the two. Mitch instinctively curled into his boyfriend's chest to protect himself. Shielding his eyes, the blonde stared right at the his favorite brunette, mentally reminding him why they had come into the storm in the first place. The message was received and understood.

Mitch, both willingly and unwillingly, extracted his shivering, food-covered frame from Scott's embrace and shakily walked to a space on the sidewalk that was being pelted with rain. Watching in fascination, the baritone saw most of the sauce and soup wash off of the other man's head and arms. Now trembling violently from the cold, the brown-eyed suit-wearer wrapped his arms around his ribs, feeling his teeth chatter.

Even though they were being blocked by clouds and rain, stars could still be seen faintly shining through the mist. Stars that Scott had planned to sing to his boyfriend under.

Suddenly, an idea hit him. He slowly put it into place, his semi-deep voice rising in dynamics as he gained confidence. The song was a mixture of several; _Can't Sleep Love, Water,_ and _La La Latch_ were among the arrangement.

It sounded beautiful and comforting and made Mitch feel ten times better despite his entire ensemble drenched, soaked, splattered, and cried all over. Not giving up his spot in the rain, he gestured for his partner to come closer. Setting the towel aside, Scott ran to Mitch while grinning wildly. The rain pelted his shoulders.

They joined hands and sang together, their voices blending in harmony and crackling right along with the thunder. Reckless energy paraded right along with them. The date had been ruined, far, _far_ from ruined. But even in the most unlucky of times, the best friends made things work.

The blonde grabbed the countertenor's waist and spun him in a circle, stealing a second of the universe to press his lips to Mitch's colder ones. He guessed their kissing would only last a brief second, yet he was wrong; when he pulled away the brunette wove his fingers through his golden locks and tugged him close with a devious smirk.

They stayed like that; kissing, dancing, singing, wet and covered in Greek food, until the rain stopped and the sun came out. And, lucky for them, that was not for very long time.


	21. Trip To Fiji

**Hiya! It's time to be swept away into the universe of Scomiche (it's real, people. It. Is. REAL.)!** **Inspired by Scott and Mitch's Instagram about their trip to Fiji. I know that it was several months ago, but still. It was really fun to write about. This story also has a little Kavi as well (Kevin/Avi).**

 **The summary; Clear waters, strawberry smoothies, tumbling waves, hooking up with your best friend, waffles, and sunscreen. Where are we, children? Fiji, no less.**

 **Thank you for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

"We should go on a cruise!" Scott said excitedly. He opened up the curtains of their hotel room abruptly, filling the room with bright light. The view from the window was stunning; a gorgeous ocean spread out along the sand, lush flowers blooming in the grass three stories below, and endless sunshine. A perfect day.

His boyfriend Mitch mumbled something about getting the damn light away from his eyes before he turned over in bed. The brunette was the one of the pair that had been the most sleep-deprived (planes. Ugh.) and therefore was intent on sleeping in.

Rolling his eyes, the baritone walked to the only bed in the entire room, climbed on it, and started to shake his partner silly.

"Scott-!"

"Come on, Mitchie! Get up, get up, get up!" It was insane how much energy Scott had this early in the morning. "We're in Fiji. There's so much that we need to do while we're here."

Mitch finally heaved himself into a sitting position, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Bags hung under them, evidence of stress, but even with them the blonde still found his lover attractive. The smaller of the two sighed blearily, offering a faint smile.

"You're crazy, Scott Hoying. Crazy." He yawned again. The sunshine was warm and helping him to wake up. Obtaining coffee was also on the agenda. "But you're my kind of crazy."

"You know it." Said crazy person winked and kissed Mitch on the cheek. "Now, would you get your lazy ass out of bed? We promised Kirstie and Kevin and Avi that we'd meet them downstairs for breakfast. It's almost 9 o'clock."

"Only 9?" Mitch said with dismay. He winced when the light of the sun hit his pupils. "Babe, you promised that we wouldn't have to do anything until at least noon."

A sheepish smile spread across the other singer's face. "Getting up doesn't count."

"You know..." The brunette had just noticed that Scott was still in his pajamas (aka sweatpants and a tank top that hugged his body quite nicely). An idea crept into his head. "...we could stay in bed all day. Just you and me." He subtly fluttered his eyelashes and traced a hand down the baritone's bare arm. "Twenty four hours. You. Me. In bed. What do you think?" Leaning away from the warm sheets, the countertenor pressed their lips together.

Of course, if the pair were anywhere else, Scott would've accepted the offer without hesitation. Usually he'd give anything to have Mitch Grassi in bed with him for an extended period of time. Alas, they were in Fiji. A tropical destination of many activities besides sex. Sure, there would be that, but there was boating and surfing and sightseeing and so, so much more. Why would he waste that precious time in bed?

"Nice try." The blonde commended. "Now get out of bed, Janet, before everybody thinks we got lost in the jungle or something."

Mitch pouted at him, then gathered the blankets around him and pulled them over his head. A wordless _Fight me if you dare._ Since he was so used to his boyfriends mannerisms (pre their romantic relationship, they had been best friends. They still were, obviously, only now on a more intimate level. If that was possible) the blue-eyed man didn't spare a second. He yanked the sheets away and grabbed his counterpart around the waist, ignoring the protests and profanities flying in his direction, with a single heave lifting Mitch out of bed.

"PUT ME DOWN!" Ordered the small queen.

"Nope." Scott used his left arm to hold up the shorter man (whose arms encircled his neck to make sure he wasn't dropped), reaching for the room key with his right. He walked a few steps, slid the key in the door, and closed it behind them. The hallway was silent, a sign that many were asleep.

"Scott Hoying, I'm going to _murder_ you-" His hissed threat was cut off as Scott Hoying himself kissed him. "Don't you think you can distract me with kisses, mister!"

The elevator was in plain sight. "I'm not going to distract you with kisses. I'm going to distract you with food."

* * *

Kirstie greeted the two with a simple smile when they arrived to the breakfast section of the first floor. There were a couple people milling about; gathering pancakes, snatching yogurt from the fridge, yawning at their tables. Breakfast had begun fifteen minutes ago, which was not enough time for sane people to drag themselves from their slumber for the sole sake of smoked sausages.

The mezzo was sitting at a booth that she had picked out, beautifully decorated with yellow and orange flowers and several birds. The carpet beneath her feet was tan and neat, immaculate, even. She looked well put together for such an early hour; in her heart she held a special place for make up, yet usually she kept her face nude in front of her friends. That was true now with the exception of a single coat of mascara.

"Hey, guys." She waved and gestured for Mitch to sit across from her. Scott knew that his boyfriend wasn't actually that mad at him for dragging him out of bed (literally) since he had put him down in the elevator and they had held hands as they walked to their friend, but the brunette gave a playful glare as he took his seat.

"Where are Avi and Kevin? They both wake up early as hell. I've never seen them late to anything." The blonde remained standing.

An eyebrow arched. "I don't know. I thought the four of you would arrive as a group." Kirstie responded.

"Hm." Scott's stomach growled. "I guess they wouldn't mind if we started eating without them. I'll make us waffles." He wandered over to the breakfast table.

Twenty minutes went by; the time it took for the trio to finish their food after it was cooked and to chat quietly amongst themselves about what they were going to do that day. It was long enough that Kirstin started to worry.

"Maybe I should call Avi." She extracted her phone from the pocket of her shorts (she was already dressed to go out, unlike Scott and Mitch. The latter was in a thin tank top and the former was in super short shorts and an oversized shirt). She almost finished punching in the number when suddenly the elevator dinged and both vocal percussionists came into view.

Avi's hair was pulled back in a messier version of his usual tight bun, and his clothes (though more appropriate for outside interaction that Mitch and Scott's) were rumpled and wrinkled. Kevin staggered behind his best friend, his expression wild and his outfit all over the place.

Finally the two reached the table their friends were sitting at. The beat boxer almost stumbled into said table, but the bassist grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he could hurt himself. Kevin sent him a grateful smile after a moment of hesitation.

Noting that the trio's plates were covered in crumbs and syrup, the bearded man expressed hurriedly, "Sorry we were late. Kevin...forgot to set the alarm. We'll just go grab some eggs and bacon."

With that Avi took his brown-eyed friend by the arm again and yanked him towards the breakfast layout. Kevin hadn't even gotten in a 'hi'.

Mitch gave the retreating band members a strange look. He then turned to Scott and Kirstie and said, "The fuck?"

"I have no idea." The mezzo replied as she also stared after the pair.

The baritone put an arm around his boyfriend, who automatically leaned into his chest. "Kevin never forgets to go anywhere. Like _never._ And he sets his alarm to half an hour before he should actually get up."

"You're right." Mitch mused. "Huh. That's weird."

"Maybe they hooked up last night." Scott suggested mildly. His two companions, along with himself, immediately burst into laughter at the prospect. Kevin and Avi hook up? _Ha!_ They were such solid friends that they wouldn't kiss if you gave them a million dollars. Each.

It took a minute, but the two in question returned to the booth with their plates of eggs and bacon, as promised. Avi slid in next to Kirstie and Kevin followed suit. The mezzo was now squashed at the end of her seat, making Mitch (who was also skinny and had been squished many times due to being so) gave her a sympathetic look. He decidedly snuggled closer to his boyfriend.

"So." The beat boxer spoke for the first time that morning. His voice was slightly higher than normal, and he fixed it by clearing his throat. "Did you guys decide what we're going to do today?"

"Scott wants to go on a cruise around the island, and that poor girl over yonder wants to play with the dolphins or surf." The small brunette piped up.

"What did you say you wanted to do?"

"Stay in bed." Mitch grumbled. The blonde sitting next to him chuckled, playfully attempting to kiss his forehead. The countertenor, still staying in their embrace, swatted at the mouth seeking his skin and grumbled some more. "Or...hmm. Maybe sunbathe. Mommy never gets enough Vitamin D."

The bassist reached for the salt, his hand accidentally brushing Kevin's. With a small smile, the man with brown eyes handed his friend the shaker, not failing to notice that a faint pink tinged Avi's cheeks in embarrassment (Mitch noticed this too. He chose to lock it in the back of his mind to question Kevin about later).

"Kirstie already booked a surfing lesson..." She beamed. Scott's next words carried a flatter tone. " _Without telling us._ " Here her shoulders drooped when everybody sent her a even glance. "Meaning we're going to be learning to surf whether we like it or not. I think it's in an hour and a half. After that we can chill on the beach. And then after that-well, I don't know, I didn't get to that point yet." The baritone's face scrunched in response to the several giggles aimed at him. " _Anyway,_ the day is ours. But I still want to go on a cruise."

"We will, babe, okay?" Mitch rolled his eyes, carrying splenetic along with fondness. He shouldn't have been shocked and wasn't; Scott was persistent as shit. And the blonde loved tropical areas.

Avi held his fork in the middle of the air, thinking. "Are we going to a bonfire tonight?"

The mezzo, her lungs feeling suffocated, pushed at the bassists arm in order to get him to move. He shuffled over after a murmured apology, resting his knee against Kevin's.

"I think we're going to go to one for dinner." Kristin replied steadily, her bones no longer crushed.

"Great!" Mitch said enthusiastically. He jumped from his seat and began to gather all of the dirty paper plates and napkins. "So, now that our day is all planned out, Queen is going to go back upstairs with her King and take a nice long shower. Meet us at the front of the hotel in an hour?"

Everybody nodded at this, their friends tone igniting excitement in them as well. Finally they were going to be able to take a break! A break from the rushed sipping of crappy morning coffee, from nights where the group stayed up so late comparing new song lyrics that they passed out mid-afternoon, from singing all day everyday to until their voices turned rough or squeaky.

A break! In Fiji, no less!

Scott grinned as his boyfriend grabbed his arm and yanked him out of his spot. The brunette blew the remaining trio a kiss and tugged the blonde towards the elevator with a, "See you guys in a few!"

* * *

"How is he doing that?" Kevin asked incredulously. An empty bottle of water was clutched in one of his hands, and he used his other to point at a certain tall baritone several hundred feet away who was riding a wave like he had been doing so all his life.

Pentatonix had met up at the hotel entrance as they all had said they would, catching a local bus to ride to their surfing lesson. Kirstie had wiped out a few times, yet did not give up and eventually could take on the smaller waves. Avi was the same deal. Scott, however, once he was instructed on how to stand, keep his balance, and paddle, seemed to have an intuition with the ocean, both catching and riding waves with ease.

Mitch and Kevin were lying on the beach relaxing. The countertenor had attempted to surf and had been doing fairly well until he'd tumbled underwater due to the lightness of his body and did not resurface for a solid minute and a half. He wanted to go again, but Scott had begged him not to for fear he would hurt himself because he was so small.

The beat boxer was just terrible at the sport and had chosen to stick with his friend on the beach to prevent permanent brain damage.

Pride swelled in the tiny brunette's heart as he watched his partner expertly ride his wave. "I don't know. He's damn impressive, though. That performance is winning him some kisses tonight."

He casually sipped the strawberry smoothie that was set in the sand next to him. Sunglasses glinting, Mitch tilted his head to the sun's warmth and sighed his contentment. This was the life. Fiji was pretty amazing (he still liked Iceland better, though).

Kevin stretched next him. "Avi and I heard you two last night."

"Oh, yeah?" The smaller man felt curious and sly (a truly scary combination for whomever he wanted to mettle with). Not expecting much, he shot back sassily, "Well, Scott and I heard _you two_ last night."

A choked sound emerged. "W-What? You heard us?"

"Yup." Mitch smirked. "You were up almost as late as us."

"Oh, god." Kevin turned away and buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe you heard us doing stuff. I thought we were being quiet enough."

This made the brunette perk up. "Wait a minute, you guys actually, like, _did stuff_ last night?"

The vocal percussionist seemed to realize his mistake at the sound of Mitch's unbelieving tone. He abruptly covered his own mouth with his hand and shook his head violently, which pretty much gave it away.

"Oh my god!" Sand flew into the air as a person suddenly sat up from their previous position. "You guys actually _hooked up_ last night? Oh my god!"

"Shhh!" Kevin held a finger to his lips. "Mitch-"

"Holy shit, you guys kissed and everything!? Was he good? How far did you go? Did Avi feel bad about tainting your innocence? How long? Tell me _everything!_ " The countertenor squealed in one big rush of words. His brown eyes sparked from behind his glasses, and he whipped them off so that the sight could be known.

"Why would I tell you everything? What even is _everything?_ " Was what was sputtered in shame.

"Oh my god, I knew you guys would get together one of these days. I'm telling Scott-"

"NO!" Kevin almost screamed in horror. The loud noise made Mitch shrink back. "You can't tell anybody! I wasn't even supposed to tell you!"

"Then why did you?"

A sharp smacking sound could then be heard; the beat boxer slapping his forehead. "That slipped out by accident! Avi is going to kill me if he realizes you know."

"Your secret is safe with me. Maybe." Giggling lightly, the smaller of the two could barely resist jumping up and running around in a circle with giddiness. So the pair really had hooked up the night before. It explained everything, really; why they smiled at each other weirdly at breakfast (and why they arrived late, together, and with their clothing rumpled), why they blushed when they came in physical contact with each other, and why in the past few days before the trip they had been lingering in each other's presence. It all added up.

Aww. The pair were as attached to their counterpart as Scott and Mitch were.

...actually, that was kind of frightening.

"Hey, you guys! Have any more sunscreen? My skin is literally peeling off." Scott appeared from the edge of the ocean and started to jog towards his friends. Shaking the water from his hair, he kept his surfboard off the ground with ease, finally reaching his boyfriend's side and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Mitch."

Said brunette, despite Kevin's warning, planned on telling Scott everything later in private, but for now focused on rooting though the giant-ass beach bag that he had lugged along. After extra towels, tanning oil, and several more pairs of sunglasses had been sifted through and pushed aside, a bottle of sunscreen was held in the air in triumph, then handed to the one who needed it the most.

"You're killing those waves, Scott." Kevin appraised, clearly wishing to forget about the conversation he had just taken part in. The baritone grinned his thanks as he applied the thick white goop to his nose and cheeks.

"It's a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be. But the lesson is over and I have to give the board back. Kirstie and Avi should be walking over in a few minutes." The tallest of the five gave Mitch a puppy-dog look. "Can we please come here tomorrow? I wanna surf again."

A laugh broke loose from the countertenor. "Of course, babe." He remembered something. "Oh! And guess what? I snatched a pamphlet when we were walking out of the hotel-you know, that big notice board thing?-and there's a free boat tour of the island in an hour. I thought you would want to go. And there's a coupon on the cover. So yeah."

"That sounds great." Hyper from adrenaline and the thrill of surfing, Scott leaned down and kissed Mitch long and hard. It made both of them dizzy. Pulling away, he smiled softly and said, "This is amazing. Like you."

Pink bloomed across the tinier man's neck at the compliment. No matter how many times his boyfriend commended him, he could never get over it without blushing. "Trust me, it's even better than you think it is." His other half whispered back. A furrowed eyebrow was the response, and a shake of the head was the response to that. "I'll tell you everything later, mmmkay?"

Soon, the mezzo and bass joined the group lacking their surfboards and informed Scott that he had to return his. While he was gone the brunette informed the two of the tour and asked if they wanted to go. They accepted instantly, eager to take a long break from being tossed around by water, and dried off as quickly as they could. The blonde returned to find his band members with clothes over their swimsuits and gathering a bus fair. He chipped in five dollars of his own, and then they were on their way.

* * *

Jellyfish were over 90% water. More of space has been mapped out than the ocean floor. The largest mountain range on earth is underwater. Check, check, and check.

The only reason why Scott knew that was because their tour guide was a very animated man that was passionate everybody on the medium-sized boat be informed about...well, about everything. Already, the names of twenty different tropical fish had been announced and the tour wasn't even halfway over yet. Kirstie sent the baritone an overwhelmed look; it was like their Marine Biology class all over again.

Eventually the constant flow of information became too much for him and he decided to move away from the attentive tourists and seek out Mitch, whom listened to the lecture for about thirty seconds, called bullshit, and disappeared to the deck. The rest of Pentatonix stayed with the crowd. Scott noted that Avi and Kevin stood with their shoulders touching, an unusual feat for them since they each preferred personal space.

Mitch was leaning against the boat rail, sea spray rising in front of him. The remarks of the tour guide had faded with every step the blonde had taken towards the countertenor until they could only be reached through many doors and hallways. Scott snuck up behind his boyfriend quietly, waited a second, and then slowly curled his arms around the brunette's thin waist, pressing his larger body to Mitch's warm back. The feeling was nice.

"Hi." A high voice said quietly. Mitch cozied up to his counterpart, completely happy. "Isn't the ocean so beautiful? And the sky..." He trailed off, unable to explain just how he interpreted the strong blue. An idea hit him. "It looks like your eyes."

"That's nice." The baritone nuzzled the soft skin of Mitch's neck. "This has been the best day. We haven't even gotten to the bonfire yet."

"Ooh, I almost forgot to tell you! Kevin and Avi hooked up last night."

"I knew it." Scott stated, nodding. "That explains a damn lot."

"Right? That's exactly what I was thinking when I found out. See, this is why we're perfect for each other. You can read my mind." The small man gazed at the island of Fiji, the size of his palm in the distance. They would be staying there for the rest of the week. Nothing but relaxation, strawberry smoothies, and nightly cuddles for a whole week. Perfection.

Tilting his head, the brunette granted Scott a light, brief kiss, before turning his face to the sea to watch the waves roll by.


	22. Colors Of The Rainbow (Part One)

**Hey you guys! -drumroll- It's time for another oneshot!**

 **This one is about all of the colors of the rainbow (split into two parts, since it's a lot to write) and how they signify important events in the developing relationship of Scomiche. This oneshot covers Red, Orange, Yellow, and Green. Next week I'll post Blue, Indigo, and Purple. I'm thinking about writing a bonus color, but I haven't decided yet.**

 **I didn't realize this until after I started to write it, but the rainbow symbolizes gay pride. I literally just realized. So win-win!**

 **The summary; Scott falls and hurts his leg. Then misses a sunset. Then celebrates Yellow Day. Then grinds on his best friend. And that's all only the beginning.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Red**

Voices bounced around Scott's head without his permission. They were worried and gasping and prodding and concerned. For a moment he forgot why they were there, and what had happened to him, but a white-hot pain brought him back to the present.

"MY LEG!" He shrieked in response to the liquid fire racing through his veins. The blonde wanted nothing more than to curl into himself and just die, yet apparently the universe was against him today and wouldn't let him.

"Kirstin, don't touch him!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Scott, I didn't mean to-"

"Has somebody called the First Aid people?"

Oh, his leg was _burning._ The pain travelled up and down his left leg in spades, circling around his hip bone and then repeating their journey downwards. Scott squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to hold back the string of profanities that wanted to break loose.

One voice made itself known above the others, strangely high-pitched and worried. "Violet, girl, open your eyes."

The baritone would've flipped off whomever the tone belonged to if his muddled brain hadn't immediately recognized it. He forced his eyes to open, blinking rapidly at the sudden light. Hovering above him were two dark brown pupils that possessed long eyelashes. The owner of the assets smiled at Scott softly.

"Mitch?" He croaked. The brunette nodded. "What happened? Where-" He tried to sit up and get his bearings; Scott was on the floor with several people surrounding him, a few of them being his fellow band members (whom offered nothing save nervous looks and solemn expressions). A stage was to his right with water dripping over the edge. Sparing a glance at the singers jeans would confirm that the bottoms of them were damp.

Nothing was adding up-

"OW!" The blonde gasped sharply when he tried to sit up fully. Mitch winced, setting his palms against his chest and pushing him back gently.

"You must've banged your head too, Sis." The countertenor mused. He let out a sigh. "Being the idiot that you are, you wanted to show me a dance move, and Kevin had accidentally spilled water form his water bottle all over the damned floor-"

"-and I slipped and fell off of the nine-foot-high stage. Right on my leg. Ugh." It was all coming to him now. He was messing around on the stage, hasn't noticed the water, then fallen like the smooth criminal that he was. Just excellent. "Please tell them I don't need a First Aid guy, I'm fine." Pain shot up his thigh, showing him otherwise. He gritted his teeth. "Maybe not. But I will be, anyway."

"Scott? Are you alright?" Kirstie came into her friends line of sight. Her eyebrows were scrunched, creating a crease in the middle of her forehead. "Sorry I tried to move you, I didn't know how bad it was."

"It's okay, Kirst." Scott gave a grin despite the agony in his lower half. So _she_ had been the girl to yank him to the present with fire from hell. However, with her gazing at him so regretfully, he had to forgive her. "Really. It's okay. I bet I can stand up in a second after I get moving. Or get some pain pills."

Every cell in his body was screaming at him to stay on the floor and take it easy. Considering that the baritone usually ignored what his body told him to do (eat a shit-ton of sugar, laze in bed all day, and...er...do certain things to Mitch...), he huffed loudly and attempted to jostle. Scott wobbled slightly, barely catching his body weight on his elbows. Out of concern, the countertenor subconsciously rested a hand on his friends ankle and leaned on it.

Red sparks burst in front of the blonde's eyes, completely covering his vision in a scarlet haze. As he fought his vocal chords (that wished to yell so loudly that the wood holding the stage up splintered), Scott groaned instead and fell onto his back. It took a moment before his sight no longer glowed crimson.

Now his best friend was the person guilty instead of Kirstin. The brunette quickly removed his hand from his counterpart's injured ankle, holding it up to his mouth in recognition to what he had just done.

"Ohmygod! Sorry, sorry, Sis, I forgot I couldn't put my hand there!" Mitch babbled apologetically. His other half waved his fingers in dismissal.

"S'all good." His low voice muttered. "I'm good, Mitchie, I'm good." He waited a second until the red faded permanently and the pain was manageable. Even though he had failed the first time, he wanted to try to sit up again and informed the countertenor of this, asking for his assistance. It was a slow, careful process, but Scott eventually was able to sit up properly.

"Lookie, you're a big boy." Mitch cooed, unable to hold back a teasing smirk despite the situation. The taller of the two rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled. "Hell, my leg hurts. I should probably get a Tylenol if I'm planning on doing anything for the rest of the day." He turned his bright blue eyes on the brunette pleadingly. "Get some for me? Please?"

All willpower inside of the tinier man weakened at the look Scott sent him. Sighing only a little, he heaved himself from his position on the floor, pausing to stretch like a cat when he was completely upright. He began to walk away, leaving his friend to the mercy of those around him, yet he stopped in his tracks. Mitch's mind mulled and pondered.

Decidedly, he turned to hurry the way he had come. The baritone was still sitting exactly where he had left him, chuckling at something Kirstie had said as she sent him a knowing smile.

Before he could lose his nerve, Mitch crouched next to Scott (who gave a confused and awed look; probably wondering how the man with the high-pitched tone had gotten the medicine so fast) and reached out a hand to hold his jaw. He drew their heads together, planting a light kiss on the blonde's forehead.

"Don't go anywhere until I get back, mmmkay?" The brunette whispered.

Shocked, the blue-eyed man could barely whisper back, "Literally wouldn't dream of it."

The corners of Mitch's mouth tilted upwards. He pulled away deftly, straightened like a queen, and finally went to retrieve the Tylenol.

The mezzo soprano watched her friend walk off. "What was that?"

"No idea." Scott said truthfully, finding himself weirdly eager to return the favor.

* * *

 **Orange**

"C'mon, babe, it's almost time!"

"The sun isn't going anywhere, Mitch."

"Oh, shut up, your slow-moving ass isn't going anywhere either, is it? From what I can see, you're still on the couch."

"You're hysterical. Somebody should write that down-you know, for the books and everything."

The countertenor hit his best friend's arm. Said best friend teetered on his feet because of that, still slightly unstable on his only partially healed leg, slamming a hand against the wall of the living room to catch himself. For whatever reason, tonight Mitch had wanted to sit and watch the sunset. Scott had never done so before, and when he had told his counterpart this the tiny man had gasped and asked why the hell not. After all, there was no better way to relax in Texas than staring at the setting sun.

Of course, the pair wasn't in Texas; they were many miles from that desert, residing in their current shared apartment. But nonetheless, they could still watch a sunset.

And it was their day off from singing. So their fellow band members wouldn't tear down the door and turn them inside-out for taking a break.

The baritone held a cringe at bay. About five days had passed since his fall, not enough time for sharp jolts of pain to stop coursing through his leg. It _was_ enough time for Scott to think and worry and wonder about the kiss on the forehead he had received from his best friend. Did it mean anything? Did his crush like him back?

 _Maybe not._ The blonde protested inside of his head as he walked to the door, limping a little. Mitch rushed to his side, and though he was many sizes smaller than his other half, he helped support some of Scott's weight and opened the door to the porch in the backyard for him. _Maybe he was just being a really caring friend. Like always._

"Here, take my arm." Mitch linked their arms together tightly, similar to the way brides would walk with their fathers down the aisle. The two made their way down the stairs and outside without pause after that.

It smelled nice outside; fresh, like sweet grass and lemony flowers. Crisp air blew about in mini whirlwinds, carrying the fragrance into the sky and wafting it directly in Scott's face. He inhaled deeply, smiling when he saw his friend doing the same. The taller of the two limped to one of the chairs set on the general porch, waving off assistance, settling with a sigh. The brown-eyed singer sat right next to him, scooting his seat so that their elbows touched.

Scott squinted at the sky, which was a predominant salmon hue. Pretty yet not a sunset. "How long do we have to wait?"

"I think only five minutes or so. Hmm." Mitch mused. _Oops._ His thoughts formed a sly smile. _I had us go outside too early. Huh. And it's not like I had planned that or anything. Oh wait. I did!_

"I never knew that you were so into watching the sun, Mitchie."

"It's partly because of Travis." The countertenor admitted, brushing his dark hair from his eyes. "Remember when we used to fight a lot and I came home complaining to you about shit? Well, before he turned into a selfish asshole, he told me stories of times where he'd have huge fights with his ex-boyfriends, and to cool down he'd watch the sunset." Mitch absentmindedly traced the shape of his lips. The baritone found himself staring. "So whenever we were bitching at each other, I kind of just got into the habit."

"That's cute."

"Thanks, babe." Came the high-pitched reply. The sky, without either of them noticing, had gone from a vague pink to deep orange. It was beautiful. Smiling softly, the tiny singer drew a pattern on the palm of his counterpart's hand (drawing forth a shudder, but this was well-hidden and went unnoticed). The two found themselves gazing at a pair of eyes, one blue and one brown. Were they inching closer? Were Scott's pupils flicking between Mitch's mouth and neck? Were they about to...oh god-

A sudden sheathing of the sun's light broke the spell. It was no longer a tint of apricot claiming the heavens; now a pale shade of brown-magenta was showcasing the first visible stars to be seen that night. The sun, at least for now, was asleep.

"We missed it!" Mitch exclaimed when he chanced a look at the horizon. His expression was disbelieving. "Hell. I really wanted you to see it."

Giggling at the brunette's demeanor, Scott brought his other half's smaller hand to his lips, pressing his mouth to the smooth skin in reassurance. "Don't worry, Mitchie, there's always tomorrow."

"But we'll be rehearsing tomorrow night. I'm sad." The countertenor was slightly flustered at the action of his best friend, feeling a particular heat rise to his cheeks.

The blonde stood up, tugging grumpy Mitch along with him. Scott grinned widely and let a quiet laugh escape. "Let's go inside and watch SpongeBob, okay? We'll have a marathon." He offered, swinging their linked hands.

"Okay. But we're sitting in this exact spot the day after tomorrow to watch the sunset." Taking his friend's arm, the tiny singer shook his head ruefully, shooed away his buzzing thoughts that were alight with quivering anticipation, and led Scott inside. SpongeBob awaited.

* * *

 **Yellow**

Scott did not know that it was Yellow Day at Starbucks.

He soon found out.

The outside of the café was strung with sunflowers and citron-colored lights. Canary drapes hung from the umbrella's holding fort on the sidewalk, also tied to part of the doorframe. An employee had written in bold yellow letters, _HAPPY YELLOW DAY!_ on a sign that had been hammered to cover the original logo. To make their statement even more obvious, ribbons of said pastel tint were tied to pretty much everything.

"Wow. They really went for it." The baritone said. He slung his arm around Mitch's shoulders (it had been long enough for his leg to heal completely, so he didn't need the support. Still. He couldn't help but be touchy-feely), tugging his counterpart close. The two were on their daily morning coffee run that had taken a slightly less-than-normal turn.

"You're right." Tilting his head to the side, the brunette continued. "So long as we don't get kidnapped by some crazy guy in yellow, I think we're okay to get our caffeine. Yeah?"

"Yeah. Hopefully the line isn't long."

Fortunately, they found after opening the door and stepping in that the line wasn't too lengthy; however, for some reason Starbucks itself was packed that day and there were no available booths, or chairs, or anything really. It was also crowded inside, so crowded that the singers were nearly on top of each other.

"I didn't know so many shitting people celebrated Yellow Day." Mitch grumbled as a woman with aqua heels bumped into him roughly. She didn't apologize, either, something that made a sour frown twist across his normally neutral features. Scott caught his best friend when the smaller man stumbled into him. "Sorry, Scott."

A low chuckle rumbled through the blonde (something his other half found excruciatingly attractive). He rubbed Mitch's arm soothingly, saying, "It's okay. Look, the line is moving."

Five minutes ticked by. They were only three people closer to the counter, having five people left until the destination would be reached. The countertenor blew a frustrated huff of air through his nose, feeling it whistle through his septum piercing, and leaned till his shoulder blades were firmly set against Scott's broad chest.

"Avi said that he liked my song idea." The shorter of the pair murmured to the person standing several inches above him. "Kevin and Kirstie were on board with it too."

"What did you call it? I forgot."

" _Na Na Na_. Kev said that I would sound good singing it, but I don't know...I wrote it for Kirstie."

"You'd sound amazing." The baritone smiled, giving Mitch a playful shove. "You always do."

"That's nice." Per usual, a flush fought its way up the brunette's neck. Scott made the sweet words seem effortless, like they were meant to be applied to Mitch. It was something that he could never quite understand, get over, or stop appreciating. He _loved_ compliments. Especially ones regarding his unique tone. "Not that I'm complaining...but why do you compliment me so much?"

Shrugging, the blue-eyed man gave a shy smile. "Because you deserve them. Your voice is unfairly pretty and you always look great and I like that you laugh really hard and-" Scott stopped before the words _And I have a huge crush on you_ could break loose. "-you're my best friend." He ended warmly. The tinier man grinned at him happily, feeling a spark of appreciation and not wishing to ignore the attraction quelling in his stomach (along with the butterflies that had decided to flutter there whenever the blonde was around).

"Can I take your orders, sirs?" An unfamiliar voice piped. Unknowingly, the pair had worked their way to the front of the line. The barista was waiting to receive their orders; they hadn't noticed because they were too wrapped up in each other.

"Oh. Yeah. I'll have the-" Scott's voice froze. He had just now taken note of the menu. It was all warped and weird, positively glowing yellow and showcasing the special drinks for that day. Since he didn't want to keep the line of people behind the best friends waiting, he blurted, "Um. The spicy sunflower frappe?"

Mitch looked equally baffled, unused to seeing the normal menu so bright and enthusiastic. "I'll take an iced coffee with...uh, crushed sunflower seeds and yellow whipped cream."

"Sure thing. Your drinks will be ready in a minute or two." The barista nodded at them and fed the order to her coworkers, who bustled about filling the request.

The taller of the pair only possessed enough patience to wait ten seconds. That was the maximum that his ADD-super-fast-moving-brain allowed, anyways. Needing something to catch his attention, he zeroed in on the scent of vanilla twirling in the air. It was pleasent, much like the smell of the cinnamon rolls, or the scones. He leaned forward, sniffing, placing a hand on the counter for balance.

His hand slipped on the shiny surface. With a gasp, Scott fell right into Mitch, whom had been watching his friend and was in the right place to catch him. He did, his knees buckling a little due to the extra weight, shifting his arms so that the two were nose-to-nose.

"Um..." The baritone swallowed nervously. A giddy excitement rose in his throat. "Hi."

"Hi." Mitch said quietly. "How's your day going?" His dark brown eyes gleamed. Since they were so close, Scott could feel the warmth of his counterpart's body, the new temperature driving a part of him nuts. Both of their breathing became swift and shallow as they sized each other up.

"Sirs? Your drinks are ready."

 _Damn it all to hell._ The countertenor thought harshly. Instead of scowling at the interruption (he could've sworn that his best friend was going to kiss him), he plastered on a smile and accepted the beverages. His blonder half had a dazed expression on his face, not resisting the yank of Mitch's hand when he was led outside.

"Here's your drink." The small singer sighed, handing Scott his frappe. It was accepted slowly with an uneasy but curious glance. Oh, yeah, something had just happened between them alright.

Mitch scrunched his eyebrows at his sunflower seed shavings. "Well, at least the whipped cream looks decent." He clinked his plastic container with his blue-eyes friends as they walked down the street to the apartment they shared. "Happy Yellow Day."

* * *

 **Green**

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Somebody boomed. It was probably the owner of the bar, or maybe the manager. The music was halted (or at least turned down) so everyone else could pay attention. "Due to some technical difficulties, all of our colored lights except for our green one have broken down. We apologize and hope that you still have a great time!"

Scott and Mitch glanced up from their spots at their table. The rest of Pentatonix had come along with them on their night out, and were currently getting drinks.

"Well, that's shitty." The brunette said without venom. "They'd better play good music."

"They will." His counterpart assured. "Hell, Mitchie, the dance version of _Fast Car_ just finished like three minutes ago. That song is almost as good as _Pretty Hurts_."

"Girl, the only song better than _Pretty Hurts_ is _Blow_." Was what was uttered in return. Scott thought over it for a moment, before nodding his head in agreement.

Kirstie appeared in the next instance, carrying three bottles of an alcohol brand that Mitch didn't know the name of, but so long as it did the job he didn't care. He accepted one from her hand and his counterpart did the same.

"Where are Avi and Kevin?" The blue-eyed man asked. Bringing the drink to his lips, he sipped, then grimaced. The taste of the beer was bittersweet.

The mezzo remained standing, taking a drink of her own liquid. It was obvious that everybody in their small trio was sober; judging by the pitch-black eyeliner Kirstin was wearing, Scott's slightly tighter than usual jeans (he'd feel it if somebody tried to swipe his wallet), and Mitch's half-sultry, half-cunning expression, however, they wouldn't remain that way for long. The blonde hoped that they wouldn't end up on the aide of the road at five a.m.

"Still deciding what the want to drink." Kirste rolled her eyes, giving a fond smile. "Kevin is weirded out by alcohol. You know how he is."

"True." The countertenor appraised. Suddenly, the bar went dark, now solely illuminated by the working green lights. A Rhianna song started to blast from the speakers loudly, her hit called _Hard_. "Oooh, this is a good song. We should dance." He got up and took his favorite baritone's hand, beginning to drag him from his seat.

"Whoa, whoa, now? You wanna dance _now?_ " He sputtered, barely able to set his drink aside.

"Why not now?" Mitch asked with a tinge of challenge in his tone. His eyebrow arched. Kirstie sat in the now open seat, watching the two and keeping her eyes peeled for her other friends.

 _I have every fucking reason not to dance right now!_ Scott's thoughts yelled. _For starters, the song that's playing is sexy by definition. What do people do when a sexy song is playing? Oh, I don't know, maybe they-THEY DANCE PROVOCATIVELY, MITCH! I don't know if I can control myself if you start dancing provocatively!_

"I, um. Uh." Escaped intelligently. He quickly procured an excuse. "I, uhm, want to finish my drink first."

The tinier man snorted, giving a disbelieving look. "Please. You can finish your drink later. Come _on!_ " Scott opened his mouth to argue again, yet it was no use; Mitch was having none of that shit and tugged him to the dance floor.

Bodies pulsed under the jade light. The pair were separated for a moment in the crowd, found each other, and joined the wave. It was semi-dim despite the green shine, so Scott felt safe enough to allow his gaze to travel up and down Mitch without having to hid it. The brunette was also wearing tight clothing, something that the taller of the two was surely meant to torture him; he was dressed in skinny jeans, combat boots, and a short-sleeve shirt that billowed when it reached Mitch's forearms and hips.

They were standing only a foot apart. Somebody bumped their elbow against the blonde's and he lurched forward, right into his best friend's personal space. Mitch, however, didn't seem to mind too much, gazing up at his counterpart with dark auburn eyes that were glazed with something Scott couldn't quite read.

 _I see you aiming at my pedestal_

 _So I think I gotta let you know_

 _That I, I, I,_

 _I'm so hard (so hard)_

 _Oh yeah yeah yeah,_

 _I'm so hard_

They had gotten to the enticing part of the song. The countertenor's arms went up over his head as his hips swayed to the beat. Entranced, Scott almost couldn't respond when Mitch beckoned for him to come even closer with a slender finger. He complied, now so close that the pair occasionally brushed against one another when they danced underneath the lime-green lights.

Letting a satisfied sigh tumble past his lips, the baritone inched his hands towards his partners hips, asking a silent question (he would never do anything without the smaller man's consent). In answer the brunette took Scott's wrists and placed them on his hips for him, reaching to link his hands behind his other half's neck.

Winking flirtily, Mitch leaned upwards so that his breath ghosted across the skin of the blue-eyed man's collarbone. His sharp hips were gripped as a sign of approval.

"Mitch..." He groaned when his best friend planted kisses along his jaw. Not able to help himself he removed a single hand from Mitch's waist and slid it into his back pocket. The movement was definitely felt, if the slight jump he was granted was any indicator. A high-pitched whine could be heard, followed by the person making the noise nuzzling the blonde's neck.

Scott Hoying was now one hundred percent certain that Mitchell Grassi was the sexiest person on the planet.

Hot pleasure muddled Scott's brain when Mitch started to grind against him. He gave as good as he got, squeezing his hand slightly and coaxing his counterpart to yip at the unexpected move. The sound only turned the singer on.

"Mitch, Scott, we have to leave, we-" Kirstie's voice broke through to the pair. She gaped at the sight of them tangled up. "Oh god!"

The two tore apart as if they had been electrically shocked. Cheeks burning (with both embarassment and desire), the baritone stuttered, "H-H-Hi, Kirstie. We were, um. W-We were j-just, um-"

"Yeah, um..." The mezzo soprano stared at them awkwardly. "Sorry I interrupted you guys, um, we have to leave. Kevin got really sick. Avi thinks he drank something weird."

"Right." Mitch squeaked. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes from Scott, whom he could not bring himself to look at. It was like they had been caught doing something dirty. Which they hadn't; they were two grown men grinding on each other and...

Okay, that was a little dirty.

"Well, we should get going." Thankfully the song switched, the green lights turned off, the natural white bar lights flicking on to replace them. Scott rubbed the back of his neck, continuing. "It was getting late anyway. Did you pay the tab?"

"Yup." Kirstie nodded, still watching her friends carefully. The group left the dance floor quickly.

They found their beat boxer heavily leaning on Abi wearing a sickened face. "Heya, guys. I think I-" He repressed a burp he knew would only lead to him vomiting. The bass grimaced, feeling bad for his best friend. "-drank some stuff my body isn't liking. Can we go?"

All of Pentatonix were willing to go. So they did; Scott held the door open for everybody as they walked out, hearing the volume of the music deplete. Mitch continued to not look at him.

God, but that tiny man made him feel good. The blonde let the door go, taking advantage of his long legs to catch up to his friends, whom were already halfway to the car. It took a moment, but Kevin was loaded in the backseat beside Avi, Mitch was in the passenger seat, and Kirstie opted to drive. Scott was left next to the bassist; he climbed in with an easy move and shut the door.

He glared from his window at the club, lit up green again. They had almost kissed. They'd grinded on each other, given pleasure, but they hadn't full mouth-on-mouth kissed. They were so close.

So, so fucking close.


	23. Colors Of The Rainbow (Part Two)

**Hey you guys! Part two has arrived! As promised, this oneshot is a continuation of _Colors Of The Rainbow_ and covers the colors Blue, Indigo, and Purple. I am so proud of this part two and I really hope you guys like it. Also, I think that I might re-write part one; I feel like the plot of it might not be clear enough to be a solid introduction. But we'll see.**

 **The summary; After grinding on his best friend at a club lit up by green lights, Mitch has come to the conclusion that he and his best friend Scott should not date. Why? Let's just say that it has to do with his ex, Travis, and the fear of commitment that has haunted him ever since they broke up. And let's also say that the conversation with Scott doesn't go well. At all.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Blue**

Mitch approached the kitchen cautiously. Out of nervousness, he tugged at the oversized t-shirt that went to his knees, and played with a stray strand that had unspooled from the cotton. He almost didn't have the courage to do this. But no. He had to for sanity's sake.

It was the morning after that fateful night at the club, where he and the best friend he'd been growing dangerously attracted to dirty danced on each other, were interrupted, and hadn't talked since. Granted only twelve hours had passed, mostly spent sleeping, yet the countertenor couldn't shake the feeling of awkwardness that hung in the air, an awkwardness he'd taken notice to the moment he woke up.

Sitting in bed all day and moping would do no good; Pentatonix rehearsal was later in the afternoon, anyway, and it could not be missed. So, ditching his original plan (which was, as stated, to do nothing), Mitch decided that the pair needed to sit down like civilized people and talk things through. He hated to play the game of, _oh, I don't know if I want you, but, um, I kinda do._ Talking would fix things.

They were best friends before anything. They could fix shit that needed to be fixed, and they could talk about shit that needed to be talked about.

He'd grabbed a shirt that was giant on his tiny frame (sniffing it first; yup, it was Scott's. Wait...how had this gotten in his room?), opened his door, and silently padded to the kitchen for his usual morning coffee. Maybe he'd add some vodka for kicks.

Now the singer was greeted by the sizzling sound of eggs and the occasional crackle of bubbly pancakes. The faint smell of fruit lingered; was that...strawberry? Kiwi, perhaps?

Curious (and, okay, a little hungry), Mitch slowly stepped onto the cold tile that was the kitchen and looked up.

Scott Hoying stood by the stove with his back to his friend, quietly humming a song as he flipped pancakes. A small platter of steaming eggs sat on the counter, beside an egg that was cooking, next to a container of strawberries, raspberries, and peaches. Some of the peaches were sliced and lay ready on a plate. The berries had been packed into a blender, soaked with milk and a bit of sugar: the blonde peered at his half-finished pancake and made his way to said appliance and pressed a button. It whirred a high-pitched noise for twenty seconds before stopping.

The baritone unclicked the blending container from the blender, popped off the top, and poured the mixture into two matching glasses he had taken from a shelf. He set them by the finished eggs, scraped the cooking egg onto the egg platter, turned off that burner, and continued making his pancakes peacefully. He hadn't realized that Mitch was standing in the kitchen doorway, shocked, his brown eyes wide open.

" _If you gave me a chance I would take it. It's a shot in the dark, but I'll make it!_ " Scott suddenly sang, bobbing his head to the imaginary beat with a smile. He paused in cooking and used the spatula like it was a microphone. " _Know with all of your heart, you can't shake me_ _..._ " His deep voice went soft here. " _When I am with you there's no place I'd rather be._ "

He danced around the stove, singing the PTX version of the song. "La da da dum, da dum, la da da dum, da dum, dum..." The tall man (dressed in long pajama bottoms and a tank top) laughed at his own silliness, but nonetheless continued to sing as he scooped up a now fully-cooked pancake and plopped it on the medium-sized stack he was working on.

The blue-eyed man squinted at the batter bowl. "Hmm...enough for one more." He began to scrape the final remains onto the pan.

"Scott-"

" _Fuck!_ " Scott's body jumped six inches in the air. He pivoted on his heel too fast and the batter spilled on the floor. He held a hand to his heart and took deep breaths, his body trembling with adrenaline. He saw his counterpart standing in the doorway in one of the baritone's shirts and a pair of boxers underneath. Swallowing, he stuttered, "H-H-Hi M-Mitchie. W-What are you doing up?"

"I wanted to talk to you." Mitch answered, staring at his startled other half. "What are _you_ doing up?"

"Um." The blonde stood there dumbly. "I wanted to say sorry for what happened last night. So I made you breakfast."

"Really?" A glance around the kitchen showed that all of the food was ready to be taken from the room to be put on the dining room table. "That's..." He looked at Scott, his hands covered in batter, a strawberry stain on his tank top. "That's sweet."

Setting the empty bowl and kitchen utensil in the sink, Scott snatched a paper towel roll, ripping off several sheets to clean his hands along with the floor. Mitch helped, kneeling over to scrub at the sticky tile. The two worked in silence for a few moments, until the brunette said, "It smells so good in here. I didn't know you were such a good cook, babe."

The baritone shrugged, eyes cast downwards. "Remember when I told you I took that art class? Well, I needed another elective, so I picked cooking."

The pair stood up at the same time, bumping into each other. A lot of that had been happening to them lately. Sending his best friend a small grin, Mitch took the dirty paper towels from both of their hands, throwing them away. He couldn't help but be drawn to the food (which, if you must know, was mouthwatering. Much like the other singer in the room). Picking up a glass of the smoothie, he carefully sipped.

"Oh my god!" His eyes widened for the second time that morning. "This is really good! Wow. You should cook more often."

"So you like it?" Scott asked nervously. He walked a few steps closer, wishing to judge the expression on his other half's face to see if he was lying.

"I love it!" The smaller man had to refrain from downing the stuff. He settled for taking a long drink, at the end of it slowly licking his lips to get the flavor off of his mouth.

Drawn to the gesture, the blonde subconsciously moved closer, his gaze intent on Mitch's mouth. This caused the countertenor to set the drink on the counter behind him and step closer as well. His best friend reached for him, pulling his tinier body forward in an embrace.

"I don't want to play games, Scott." Mitch breathed, his palms resting on the chest in front of him. The warmth of the taller man was making him shiver a little.

"I don't either. What happened last night..." Memories hit them; dancing, pleasure, blue and brown, small bodies and large ones, stifling heat, bright green lights, a sultry beat. All of it was missed. All of it was coveted. All of it made both singers wish for a do-over, a repeat.

"It's just, we're best friends, you know?" The brunette sighed. "And I don't want us to fall apart if something happens. I don't think that we should-" His breath caught here. He found himself unable to continue his refusal speech, due to the potency of Scott's striking blue eyes. They were staring at him pleadingly, begging him not to do this. The blue, Mitch hadn't noticed until just now, was captivating and swirled in endless bright sapphire spirals that gave Scott's pupils endless depth. Who could say no to him if he possessed such enthralling assets?

Mitch felt strongly undecided. He didn't know if he should kiss the person in front of him or give him a harsh letdown so that nothing could remain unexplained.

Suddenly, after a silence that stretched on forever, Scott's shoulders fell and his eyes went from bright cobalt to an almost greyish azure in disappointment. He released his arms from their position around his friend's waist. Immediately the countertenor wanted to take back his previous words.

"It's okay, Mitchie. I get it." The blonde smiled weakly. Mitch's heart broke at the sight. Scott was clearly dejected despite his efforts to hide it. "Let's eat breakfast and get ready for rehearsal. C'mon." He turned away from the man whom had just crushed his feelings, picked up the plate full of pancakes, and ambled into the dining room.

"Shit." The tiny man whispered to himself. He shut his eyes and roughly rubbed his face with his hands. "Shit. Shit. What did I just do? Oh god..." He exhaled into his fingers.

Two minutes later, he sat across from Scott (who would not look at him), carefully eating his breakfast. If things had gone differently, maybe Mitch might've thought the food was delicious. But since he'd pretty much fucked everything up, he believed the words _dust_ and _paste_ described the meal better.

* * *

 **Indigo**

" _Mitch, what the hell was up with you and Scott? You guys were acting really weird around each other at rehearsal yesterday._ " Kirstie's voice rang through the phone.

Said countertenor bit his lip. The baritone, thankfully, currently wasn't home; he was out with Kevin and Avi running errands or something (he'd sort of mumbled where he was going to Mitch. Ever since the previous morning, he had been very hesitant to express his opinions around his best friend. This could not be blamed, for the brunette was the same way. This made him feel odd, as he wasn't used to the tenseness that was in the air whenever they spoke to one another). So the tiny man had the house to himself for a few hours.

"Kirst, we're going through a Code Indigo right now." Mitch groaned into his iPhone. He leaned against the wall of his bedroom in dismay.

" _Whoa. Code Indigo? Why?_ " The mezzo's voice was surprised and slightly off-putted. " _Never mind, I'll be over there in twenty minutes with everything we need._ " She hung up right away.

The tiny singer pocketed his phone, bent to his knees to give Wyatt a scratch behind his ears (this earned him an appreciative _Meow!_ ), and ran to the living room to prepare for his friend's arrival.

Code Indigo was a term the trio (Mitch, Scott, and Kirstin) and come up with before they had met their soon-to-be band mates. They had been watching a medical-based show on the television one night, not unusual for them, when sixteen-year-old Scott Hoying had asked, "I don't get it. They have a Code Red, Code Blue, and Code Purple. What about the other colors, like Yellow or Green or something?"

"Maybe they do and we just haven't heard them talk about it yet." An equally young Kirstie had pointed out, placing a single piece of popcorn in her mouth and chewing on it contemplatively.

"Like...Code Indigo?" A teenage Mitch had wondered aloud. "Just to stay in that color scheme."

"Yes!" The blonde had nodded. "That's it. Code Indigo. But what would it stand for?"

None of the three could come up with anything at that time, and they still couldn't when several years had passed. Only when Mitch had broken up with his boyfriend Travis had they connected a meaning to the term; Code Indigo stood for serious relationship struggles, whether it be a break up, general doubt, or anything like that. The supplies that were required when a Code Indigo was announced was ice cream, wine, and a listening ear.

Mitch really needed ice cream, wine, and a listening ear.

After the living room had been organized thoroughly and Mitch had put on some more appropriate clothing (he didn't need to scar Kirstie with the sight of him in his undergarments. Then again, _anybody_ would be scarred if they saw him in his undergarments), he heard the doorbell ring cheerily as he was finishing brushing his teeth. Batting his hair out of his line of sight as he went (that _one_. _Fucking_. _Strand_.), he opened the door to see his favorite mezzo soprano. She wore a cautious smile and carried a huge bag.

"Did you bring the stuff?" The brunette questioned, eyeballing the bag.

Kirstie rolled her eyes and let herself in. "Of course. When have I ever _not_ brought the stuff?"

"True." Mitch nodded to himself.

Five minutes were wasted as the friends ran around the kitchen and the living room gathering things and setting up; the bottle of wine was placed on the coffee table by two glasses, the ice cream was peeled open and matching spoons were grabbed, and three thick blankets were snatched so that they could relax on the floor. Then they were ready.

Sitting cross-legged and opposite one another, Kirstin kicked off her shoes (she'd dressed for comfort in yoga pants and a hoodie, suspecting that the ordeal was going to take some time), dug her spoon in her chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, then said, "Go."

"It's him." Mitch confessed, also scooping up his own creamy goodness (mint chocolate chip. Pure perfection) and eating some. He sighed, swallowing. He knew that the mezzo knew who 'him' was referring to. "I fucked up big time, queen."

"What happened? Tell me _everything_." She demanded.

So Mitch did. He spilled everything; how he'd always felt attracted to the baritone before he had fallen and hurt his leg, the time that the pair had almost seen a sunset and had almost kissed that same night, the closeness they had experienced on Yellow Day. He didn't tell her about them grinding on each other (Kirstie was aware of that already, since she had been the one to butt in). He then explained the event that had taken place the previous morning; Scott cooking breakfast for him as an apology, how they'd nearly kissed again, and the exact words he'd used to turn the blonde's world upside-down.

"...if something happened." The tiny singer drank from his already quarter empty glass of wine. His throat hurt from talking so much, making him realize that he hadn't actually held this long of a conversation for a long time. "And he got this really sad look on his face and he said it was okay, but I know he was lying, and I just..."

Kirstin had not interrupted her best friend once. Now she saw it was her time to talk. "Why did you say that to him, Mitch?"

"Because-" The brunette set his drink aside. He thought it would be easy to admit, but he was finding that it wasn't. Folding his hands in his lap and staring at them he said, "Because I was scared."

A regular person would've asked why Mitch was scared. However, the only girl of Pentatonix was no ordinary person, switching out that would-be inquiry with, "I'm going to murder Travis."

Ever since Travis had dated Mitchell Grassi and broken up with him, the small singer hadn't been the same. He'd favored Travis highly, too highly, and gotten his heart crushed. Travis had said that he didn't care about his boyfriend, not really, that he'd only dated Mitch for fun and wouldn't have cared if he dropped dead to the floor. Their parting quarrel had been a nasty one, one that forced the brunette to put his guard up and develop a wariness of relationships. He preferred quick flings; he knew that if he dated Scott, they wouldn't be just a brief nothing, they'd last.

That was very frightening. Very frightening indeed.

He had no idea why he'd let himself kiss the Scott's forehead or almost kiss him many times. He hadn't honestly known until the night they went a little too far; it was because the kind-hearted blonde made him feel good, inside and out, in the best way possible.

Yanking his brain back to earth, Mitch giggled at the insult directed at his ex. Hot wetness was pricking behind his dark brown eyes. Sniffling, he said, "I don't know what to do. I never know what to do." He sent Kirstie a pleading look. "Help me."

"Only if you answer a question."

"Okay."

"You're in love with Scott. Yes or no?"

The countertenor balked, blinking at the twenty-three-year-old gazing at him steadily. "What if I don't want to answer?"

"Too bad. Do you love him or not?"

"I mean...um...this is weird-"

"Mitch, he fucking _cooked you breakfast_ as an _apology_ for _grinding on you_ because he thought you might not be okay with it! Who does that? Exactly. Nobody does that unless they have feelings for you."

"Kirstie-"

"Answer me right now or I swear to god I'll call Avi and tell him you were the one who Tweeted the pictures of him sleeping and not Kevin."

"Fine!" He shouted in partial horror (the wrath of the bassist was something to be feared indeed). "I love him!"

"Who do you love?" Kirstie challenged. "Say it!" Throughout their bickering the two had gotten in each other's faces and had increased the sassiness of their tones. The last question hit one of Mitch's nerves. He opened his mouth, ready to shriek the name with a fierce expression decorating his features, but suddenly all of the fight drained from him.

Silence greeted the room as the two stared at each other. The mezzo delicately picked up her ice cream carton, took the spoon, and resumed eating. The brunette did the same, greatly calmed. The problem, in the weird twisted amazingly awesome way that Kirstin had chosen to solve it in, was solved.

"Thanks, Kirstie."

"You're welcome. Promise me that you'll tell him soon. You're driving him nuts, Mitch. I can tell that he wants you, like badly."

"Wants me for sex?"

"No, Mitch. Scott wants you for _you_."

* * *

 **Purple**

Okay.

This was motherfucking _it._

A day Mitch could handle. Two or three days he could also handle. He wouldn't like it, and he hadn't liked it (he'd hated it, actually), but he could get through it with his sanity intact. After seventy-two hours had passed, the brunette figured that Scott would _have_ to begin to actively talk to him again. Y'know, without a sad look in his gorgeous blue eyes, or a high resistance to physical contact (meaning no more shying away from Mitch's closeness or touch).

Ooooh, no, ladies and gentlemen. No, not one, two, or three days had passed.

But _five_.

Five. Fucking. Days.

Five fucking days of the pair skirting around each other, of stolen glances, of zero physical contact (Mitch was so upside-down that he'd admit it; he missed Scott's cuddles with something that bordered on insanity), of quick conversations, of awkward pauses when they both noticed at rehearsal how their voices blended together, of Kirstie sending sympathetic looks while Avi and Kevin just sent confused ones, of watching TV in relative silence, of boredom, of sexual frustration (come on. If a sexy tall blonde man with pretty eyes, a sweet heart, and a stunning voice sat within ten feet of you, you'd better be frustrated or else something was wrong with you), and of the general feeling of being lost.

It was absolute utter torture in the worst way possible.

The stress of Mitch's argument/resolution that he'd encountered whilst talking to Kirstie had grown. Over the past many days without Scott (sure, the baritone was there physically...but it wasn't really like having him _there_ if all he did was sing without sparing you two glances or offer an offhanded comment every now and then), the countertenor's sighed bemoans had transformed into snapped remarks, said harshly and with an angry tone. Everybody had noticed and attempted not to get on his bad side.

On the fourth day, he'd shot a sarcastic jab at Esther, who had gotten such a hurt expression to her face that it made Mitch realize how nasty he was being. He'd immediately apologized with true regret. Luckily Esther understood (she was such a great person) and forgave him.

Now it was the late morning of the fifth day. It was the day that Mitch finally decided that he had had it.

His irritability had spiked earlier, right after the sun had come up; it was a stupid thing really, only Scott saying a brief "Morning, Mitch." before brewing his morning coffee and heading back into his room.

For some reason that had bothered the hell out of the brown-eyed singer, who, clutching his own steaming mug, hadn't been able to formulate a proper response until his best friend had exited. He'd gone back to his own bedroom, gotten dressed in a purple V-neck shirt, black skinny jeans, and violet sneakers to match, then dialed Kirstie to request a drive to a café together.

She'd complied. They'd gotten blueberry scones, sitting on a bench outside as they munched on them and commented slightly laughingly that hey, they were both wearing purple today (Kirstie's top was a deep plum), and set off to the studio to their daily practice. They were now sitting in the mezzo's car, chatting, in rather good moods. Well, Kirstie was in a good mood. Mitch just wasn't feeling as pissy as he had in the past five days.

"So. There's something that Avi wants to tell you when we get to the studio. He wants it to be a surprise. But I'm going to tell you first because I want to see your face." Kirstin said tauntingly. Her bright smile crept up her cheekbones.

"Oh, my god!" Mitch gasped. "He's dating Kevin? I knew it!"

She laughed in response to that. "No, you idiot."

"Is it that he _wants_ to date Kevin? Everybody already knows that."

"No!" Kirstie giggled. That prospect was impossible, but very entertaining to mull over. "He wanted to tell you that we want to put the song you wrote on the album."

" _Na Na Na_?" The brunette's eyes widened. "Seriously? You guys liked it that much?"

"Yup." As expected, the look on Mitch's face was priceless. She grinned at him happily. "It's really, really good. You're singing the lead."

"But I wrote it for you."

"I know...but we all think that you sound better."

"Shut up, girl-"

"I'm not lying, Mitch. You had the part the second you started singing it to us." The mezzo bent over her steering wheel, grinning at her friend. "Scott said he thought you sounded amazing."

Though the words were meant to intruige Mitch, all they did was sour his mood once more, reminding him that his best friend still felt tense enough not to tell the countertenor that to his face. "Yeah, well, it would've been nice to hear that from him."

The rest of the ride was spent in quiet. Which was just great, as it gave Mitch all of the time in the world to brood.

Only five minutes had to tick by before they got there. Trying hard not to slam the car door, the brown-eyed male grumbled his way inside and was trailed by his wary friend. It was like that even when they entered their recording room. Kevin was lounging on a spinning chair, his features lit up and animated as he talked with Avi (who was smiling and sat on the large couch that could be found set by the wall).

"...backwards cymbal, you think? And then we could follow it up with something like-" The beat boxer cut off as he saw two-fifths of Pentatonix walk in the door. "Hey guys!"

Kirstie reciprocated the greeting eagerly. "Hey! Oh, we're all matching!" It was true; all four singers were wearing some sort of shade of amethyst, lavender, or dark periwinkle. Three of the four people in the room chuckled, while the fourth person gave nothing save a tiny half-smile.

Mitch rubbed his face, trying but failing to convince himself that he was not in a bad, sassy mood. "What are we working on today?"

"Well..." Avi sent the mezzo an excited look. "We decided that we want-"

"Kirstie already told me. Thanks, you guys."

"She _what?_ " The bass's expression became one of uttermost betrayal. Kirstin hide her smile behind her hand and pretended to be ashamed of herself. "That's it, I'm never telling you anything ever again."

"It wasn't my fault! It slipped out on accident!" She protested. The countertenor rolled his eyes at the obvious lie. On another day he might've laughed. Maybe. But not today.

Five _fucking_ days.

"You're terrible at lying, Kirstie-" Avi began. He was cut off by the jiggling of the doorknob, and by the door itself opening. Scott stepped into the room wearing a dreary smile. "Hi, Scott."

"Hey." The baritone returned. Mitch did not miss the way that his best friend's bright blue eyes stared at his dark brown ones for a second, tearing themselves away once their gazes were locked far too long. That only annoyed the brunette further; it happened all of the damn time, Scott just _looking_ at him and not doing anything. It got on his nerves. He bit his thumbnail uncharacteristically.

"You're wearing purple too! That's so weird!" The beat boxer exclaimed as he gestured at the blonde's violet long-sleeved shirt. "We must've all telepathized to each other this morning without realizing it or something."

Scott smiled at that. He lumbered over to a lone seat, not big enough for two people of any size to sit on together, and sat down. The seat just so happened to be the chair farthest from Mitch. An almost unnoticeable scowl formed on the smaller mans face. His counterpart was pushing his damned luck.

Mitch didn't know if he could keep his anger at bay for much longer. If Scott refused to look at him anymore (as he had for the past five days) he'd probably last an hour at best. Then he'd have to leave, go to the bathroom, and calm himself so he wouldn't spaz. It was kind of like recharging his mental stamina. Yeah. That was it.

Pentatonix started to converse of other songs that they wished to put on their all-original album and also about where they'd like to sing a show in particular. The brunette tuned them out, focusing on the quiet _tick tick tick_ of the clock that hung above their heads.

The paced sound was allowing him to think better. It wasn't that Mitch didn't _want_ to tell Scott that he loved him, it was just the fact that those words put so much at stake. The best friends might fall apart, because the baritone wouldn't want Mitch after hearing the words of poison he had had to say. Hell, he most likely didn't want the tinier man anyway, screw what Kirstie might think.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._

What was Scott's _problem_ , anyway? What was the deal with the whole telling Kirstin he thought Mitch sang the song he wrote well, and not telling his best friend to his face? What the literal fuck was up with that? _Tick._ They weren't in high school, slightly distrustful of each other because they didn't know one another well enough. The were grown ups! They didn't have to hide and be awkward. They were best friends.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._

But _sure_ , they were best friends, _sure_. Best friends that sent mixed messages more difficult to decode than pi. _Tick._ Maybe the mixed messages would've been interpreted clearer if Scott was willing to actually talk to him. They could've talked through that spectacular night at the club, the feelings that they had felt. _Tick. Tick._ Were they going to stay like this forever? Tense, weird, staring, too afraid to stand too close or gaze into the other's eyes for too long?

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._

Because then five days would turn into five weeks, and then _Tick_ five months, and then five years. Mitch couldn't handle another day let alone five more damned _Tick_ years. His anger would grow and grow, because oh hell to the mother flying fucking no was he going to spend the rest of his life like this, the rest of tour, _Tick_ or the rest of the day today. He had to do something. He had to-

"Where do you want to go, Mitch?" Scott's voice brought the countertenor to the present. His tone was bland, and when the brown-eyed singer met his gaze, the blonde's pupils reflected simple interest. No excitement, no eagerness, just an emotion coated in patience.

 _Tick._

 _Tick._

 _Tick._

"THAT'S IT!" Mitch exploded. "I can't take it anymore! I can't _take it!_ " He shot to his feet, causing his fellow band mates to press against the backs of their seats in astonishment. In vexation he picked up a random book that Kevin or somebody had set on one of the tables and threw it at the wall as hard as he could. It made a solid _Bang!_

Kirstie was so astounded that she nearly forgot she could use her voice. It was only now she realized how dark the purple bags hanging underneath her friend's eyes were, or how insane her other friend had made him. "Mitch, calm down a little-"

" _I don't want to calm down!_ " He shrieked at her, the high tone of his voice rising. His expression was crazy, the kind of crazy you imply to people who are mentally unstable. "I can't do it anymore! I can't, I can't!" He sucked in deep breaths, his body frame shuddering, his shoulders trembling.

The group had never seen their friend act this way, feeling both concerned and immensely frightened. Something like this did not happen every single day.

Scott's eyes had widened in surprise. He, unlike his other friends, was on the edge of his seat, torn. Finally he made his decision and got out of his chair, walking to his other half with his palms raised in peace.

"Mitchie." The baritone said in a voice like chocolate. He had no idea what to do, but he could at least try to help his best friend. Actually, this was going to be the first conversation he'd had with Mitch in five whole days (that were boring, torturous, and overall hell). "Relax, okay? Everything is fine."

Mitch shook his head savagely. His voice turned angry and his pupils glinted threateningly. "No. No everything is SO _NOT_ FINE. EVERYTHING IS THE FURTHEST FROM FINE GODDAMN IT!" As wrong as it sounded, the harsh screaming was making him feel better. He needed to have a freak out. "Ugh! _Fucking shit!_ Nothing's been fine since-" He cut himself off and a growl emitted from in his throat, something even Scott had never heard before. "You're just sitting there! You're just _sitting there doing nothing and it's getting on my fucking nerves!_ "

"What?" The blonde said in confusion. His counterpart was making absolutely no sense.

Mitch just stood there, glaring at Scott as his chest heaved violently, while Avi, Kevin, and Kirstin stared at him in pure shock. The seconds crept by slowly, like they too were afraid of the wrath of the singer.

With a snarl of frustration, Mitch stalked forward to where his best friend stood (noting that the blue-eyed man's face grew more nervous and wary with each step he took). Grabbing Scott's lavender shirt, he stood on his toes and slammed their lips together.

The countertenor kissed him fiercely, pouring all of his anger and happiness and gratefulness and annoyance and glee into his other half. It was brain-numbing, spine-tingling, and strongly reminded both men of the pleasure they felt at the night of the club except ten, twenty, thirty, a hundred times better, because they could finally _taste_ what they had longed for.

Breaking away, Mitch barely gave Scott time to recover before he said, loud and clear and unmistakable, "I love you."

" _What?_ " Scott had been saying that word a lot. He was so stunned he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I love you, Scott Hoying." Mitch repeated. His insane demeanor had not changed. "I'm sorry about what I said at breakfast a few days ago. I'm sorry and I take the words back a million times. I said them because I was scared you'd do to me what Travis did all those years ago." The words were rushed, begging to escape the brunette's vocal chords and dance in the air, open and vulnerable. "But I know now that you're not like that. You're my best friend and I missed you like crazy and every day not talking to you was hell." With a deep breath, he finished, "I love you and that is the end of my fucking story."

The baritone legitimately had no idea what words were anymore. Or how to use them properly. "I..." He sent Avi, Kevin, and Kirstie an unreadable glance. All of them just stared at him, though the mezzo was silently yelling at him inside of her head. _Say it back, say it back!_ "I'm sorry too. For ignoring you and everything. I missed you."

Mitch finally allowed his brain to calm. He felt so much better, both mentally and emotionally. "Good. I don't know what you would've done without your Queen."

Scott let out a giggle. Unexpectedly he reached for his smaller counterpart and tugged him into a hug. Their embrace was a tight one, filled with relief, and granted both singers a peace of mind. The countertenor didn't try to push aside the jolt his heart gave when he realized his sharp chin fit the space between the taller man's shoulder and neck perfectly. Letting a long sigh tumble from him, Mitch squeezed his best friend before unlocking their limbs.

That was that. Their invisible feud vanished.

Avi and Kevin wanted to start clapping, but Kirstie smacked their knees and halted them. She gestured for them to talk quietly amongst themselves to give her friends some privacy as the blonde took Mitch's hand and guided him to his one-person seat.

Scott pulled his other half onto his lap as he sat down. The brunette perched there delicately, cuddling into the person he loved with decisiveness.

"Mitch." The baritone whispered lowly. It wreaked havoc in the tinier man's body. Damn him and his attractive voice.

"Yes?"

"I love you too." Scott kissed him again, slow and proper. Just when Mitch's mind was going to shut off was when he disconnected their mouths to say, "You've been driving me crazy." He rubbed his hand up and down his partners ribcage.

Mitch nodded as a form of agreement, shivering at the contact. He nuzzled the taller man lazily. "You know, I realized something."

"Hmm?"

"The colors of the rainbow have been following us everywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, didn't you tell me after rehearsal on the day you fell that you were in so much pain you saw red? Then the sunset we missed was orange. Yellow Day at Starbucks. Coincidentally all of the lights at the club were broken _except_ the green ones. Then I stopped in the middle of telling you we shouldn't be together because I was paying attention to your blue eyes." Scott raise an eyebrow as Mitch counted off the events on his fingers. "Kirstie and I went through Code Indigo. And now we're all wearing purple. Isn't that weird?"

"Maybe a little. But at the end of the rainbow-"

"-is a pot of gold and a leprechaun."

"No. At the end of the rainbow you and I end up together."

"Aww." The countertenor said playfully. He nudged his partner. "You're too sweet."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know what I'd do without your sense of sarcasm, Mitchie."

With that, the two reluctantly tore their eyes from each other and focused on the sound of Kirstie's voice, telling them, hey, guys, were they ready to start rehearsal now and sing _Na Na Na,_ because despite everything Pentatonix still had a shit-ton of work to do, colors of the rainbow be damned.


	24. Mommy, Is That A Boy Or A Girl?

**Hi guys! ANOTHER ONESHOT, WHEEEEE! :)** **I recently stumbled across a Tweet that Mitch posted, declaring that he "had his first 'mommy is that a boy or a girl' moment" the previous night (don't quote me on that, it may be a little different). Inspiration struck, and thus, this oneshot was born.**

 **The summary; All Mitch wants is his morning coffee. Perhaps a normal day, but so long as he gets his coffee, he's good. However, his morning takes an interesting turn when a child asks his mom if the countertenor is a boy or a girl. This troubles Mitch a little. He doesn't mind looking like a girl naturally, but it _does_ make ****him question his relationship with Scott.**

 **Note that this does have a little slash in it, towards the middle. Just giving y'all a heads-up on the boy/boy love!**

 **This oneshot is dedicated to Hawk, an absolutely fcute reviewer whom has inspired the last few oneshots with their sweet words, and to alex, another kind human who has brightened my day with their reviews. I LOVE YOU BOTH! :)**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

Mitch had wanted coffee. More than he wanted to stay in bed with his boyfriend. That is how much he wanted coffee.

So, like any regular person would, he decided to exit his living space to retrieve said coffee.

It was a normal morning, and it started with the countertenor waking up in Scott Hoying's arms. He'd noticed his boyfriend was still asleep, probably exhausted from their night of fun, and kissed his nose. Mitch thought that he'd just lay in bed until the baritone woke up, maybe have a little more fun soon after. They'd make breakfast together, feed Wyatt, and go off (late as always) to the 10:00 rehearsal scheduled for that day.

Then his craving for his daily dosage of caffeine hit him.

He'd been torn. Laze in bed with a gorgeous blonde or inhale spicy vanilla goodness?

Eventually he chose the latter over the former, feeling oddly restless and giddy. He'd pecked his boyfriend on the lips gently, dragged himself form the warm covers, popped his back, and then winced. A pain in his ass (literally, for once) made itself known, sharp and intrusive. Mitch immediately knew what it was; though the brunette had been offered the option the previous night, Scott had abided by his partners hasty wishes and had not held back as much as he usually would have. Not that it hadn't felt like fucking heaven. But still. A literal pain in your ass hurts.

Quickly the singer pulled on undergarments, a pair of slim skinny jeans, and plain brown sneakers. He mulled over his shirt choice for a few moments, before selecting a really cute orange semi-hoodie sweater that he'd worn in the Superfruit episode 'TRY NOT TO LAUGH'. He'd loved it then, and he loved it now.

Of course, his time in the bathroom was slightly longer than he intended it to be. It _was_ only Starbucks (a ten to fifteen minute walk from the apartment), yet Mitch was determined to look his best even if his being-outside-in-the-public-eye time was barely the tick of a watch's hand. He darkened his eyebrows, patted some concealer beneath his eyes to cover the faint purple bags there, and tied his hair up in a tight bun so it was out of his face.

Satisfied that he'd shaved the previous day and that there was no stubble peeking form his skin, Mitch blew his reflection a kiss and announced, "Girl, you're killing it."

A large brown bag sat crumpled on the couch from where the tiny man had thrown it last. He fondly called it his personal man bag (pretty much everything he needed was in there; his phone, keys, wallet, lip balm, and Kleenex. What more could a person covet?), carrying it around with him everywhere. He snatched it, unlocked the apartment door, and headed to the sidewalk.

Since he knew the way by heart, Mitch pulled his phone from his man bag and checked the daily news as he walked.

There was apparently an outbreak in the fashion industry; _Houbaré_ had just hired a transgender woman to walk their runway in expensive silks and jewelry. The brunette smiled at that. Though being gay wasn't all that uncommon these days, it had taken some time for the public to accept the fact that they weren't going away, and now the same thing was happening with people whom had chosen to become their desired gender. It was truly amazing.

"Damn, she looks good." He muttered to himself as he checked _Houbaré_ 's website for pictures. Mitch sighed. "I wish I looked that good. And confident."

Sooner than he thought, the front door of the coffee shop opened to him, and as is phone was clicked off and shoved into his bag the singer threw the wood open.

By now the baristas knew both Mitch and Scott by name along with their assigned orders. Evangeline was the title of the busty woman whom usually ran the counter. Her skin was the color of coffee grounds, which made the neon blue of her hair stand out like yellow on red. Mitch liked her because not only was she hilarious but her sass level was nearly equal to his own.

Nothing like a little sarcasm to freshen up ones morning.

"Hey, it's Tweedledee." Eva (she preferred this nickname) snapped her green gum and grinned at the small countertenor when he stood right in front of the counter. "Where's your sexy-ass Tweedledum?"

"Still in bed. My lust for coffee surpasses any desire I feel for him by far, so it's only fitting I abandoned him to get a mocha." Mitch examined his fingernails royally.

Eva nodded. "You're right. He's probably going to wake up all lost and alone without you, though. Poor baby."

He smiled and said, "Instead of the usual, can I have a spicy vanilla mocha?"

"You got it." As he back turned to prepare the beverage, she fired another statement at him. "Guess what? Hannah said yes."

"Get out!" Mitch gasped, his brown eyes widening in glee and surprise. "Thats so great! Ohmygod, when's the wedding? I'm so happy for you guys! Wow. Tell me the restaurant served good wine when it happened."

"Yes, the wine was great. And the wedding is in August." Eva grinned again. She shook the container in her hand and glanced over her shoulder. "I swear I was so damn nervous I almost peed...speaking of which. You think Scotty's gonna pop the question anytime soon?"

Just the mere mental image of Scott leaning down on one knee offering his partner a ring was enough to make said partner scrunch his nose and bite his lip at the same time. They'd been dating for a while now (six months, to be exact. The best six months of Mitch's life, to be even more exact) and getting married wasn't necessarily impossible in their eyes. But they weren't ready to take such a huge step yet. This loved each other deeply, yes, yet right now was not the time to exchange vows of promise.

Now was the time to have sex.

...and run out of the apartment for coffee after sex.

Since he was thinking about it, Mitch (despite the literal pain in his ass) decided that he really, really liked sex. A lot. Only not as much as coffee.

"Nah, girl, we're not ready yet. I told you how long we've been dating."

"Yeah, well, it seemed like you guys were dating before that." Eva handed her costomer his drink and raised a blue eyebrow.

Pentatonix had held a special celebration once the entire group was notified that Scomiche had finally gotten together. The patty had been crazy insane awesome, filled with singing and laughing and dancing and alcohol; however, more than a few times had the pair been told, "I knew it." or "Finally! You guys have liked each other forever!" or "Wait, you two weren't already dating?" Neither counterpart had known he'd been so obvious about his attraction and the quiet night after the party was an interesting one made up entirely of questions and kissing.

Possibly a tinge more alcohol, but plenty of kissing and questions as well.

"Oh, whatever." The brunette sniffed good-naturedly and accepted his drink, handing her a five and taking a sip. Satisfied, he gave a last smile at his favorite barista, pivoted on his heel, and called, "Congrats again, queen! I'll see you tomorrow with Tweedledum!"

The walk back to the apartment should have been normal. It had been a normal morning so far, so why shouldn't that normalcy continue for the rest of the day? There was no reason for it not to.

Nevertheless, apparently 'there being no reason for it not to' translated to 'why should it stay this way, your life is so fuck-up-able'.

Mitch had paused on the sidewalk, leaning against a lamppost pole to support his weight as he checked something on his phone, when a woman and her young son strolled up and stopped several paces in front of him. It was a bus stop, something the tiny man had not taken note of. More people, maybe eight or nine, were also stadi g there awaiting transportation.

Tilting his face towards the sun, the countertenor's eyes met the pupils of the little boy, whom was holding onto his mothers hand and gazing back with curiosity. He could not have been more than six, with wide hazel eyes and light brown locks that swept haphazardly across the rest of his soft features.

Innocent? Sure.

Out to make Mitch Grassi's morning horrible and interesting? Why not.

"Mommy, is that a boy or a girl?"

The boy asked the question very loudly and used his available hand to point at a frozen Mitch. All dozen or so people waiting turned to stare at the brunette, including the boy's mother, whom immediately pushed his hand down.

"Honey, don't point, it's very rude." She scolded. Not willing to let go of his hand she pulled her son behind her leg and said to Mitch, "Sorry about that...um..."

He could tell that she was struggling with what pronoun to use. Did he really look that feminine? Yeah, he sounded like a woman, the brunette had long since accepted that. He supposed his eyelashes _were_ thick and long...his hair _was_ tied up...did he put on the jeans with the pattern on them or his plain ones...oh, god, maybe it was the concealer, the makeup, that was throwing everybody off.

Did he resemble a female _that_ highly?

"Ma'am." The mother had decided. "I'm sorry, uh, ma'am. He tends to ask questions without thinking."

Blinking, Mitch felt heat rush to his neck in embarassment. Everybody was still staring at him. It took much effort to make sure his voice wouldn't crack, yet he managed to say clearly, "It's no problem."

Somebody (possibly the old woman standing in the back of the small crowd) quietly gasped. Ah, shit. There it was. They'd heard his pitchy voice. The final puzzle piece.

He felt suffocated. Mitch needed to get away from here, away from this spot, away from the prying eyes. Shouldering his bag (was it that? Was it his man bag?) he hurriedly rushed down the sidewalk, feeling the stares on his back until he rounded a corner and the miniature crowd was no longer in his sight.

What the shit had just happened to him? Why was this so shocking? Why did this touch him in such a sensitive way?

Deep breaths. That's what you're supposed to do. Take deep breaths. The small singer practically gulped air as he broke into a sprint. Tears stung his eyes, blurring the sky and the street. More than he needed to relieve himself of the presence of people, he needed Scott.

Right this instant Mitch needed Scott.

This. Instant.

The run to the apartment seemed to take five seconds (though it was most likely five minutes). Feverishly wiping the tears racing down his cheeks, the brown-eyed man fumbled with his keys as he unlocked and unlatched the apartment door, bounding inside and setting his mocha aside, forgetting it. He closed the door, still attempting to get his breathing under control.

Mitch stood in the bedroom doorway in the following seconds. The view before him was achingly normal; in the half hour that he had been gone, Scott had woken up, and had pulled the covers to his chest and was flipping through a book. The blonde noticed his boyfriend immediately, setting his novel down and smiling.

Wordlessly, the countertenor walked to the end of the bed, climbed on it, and began crawling on top of Scott. He barely gave his other half time to register the wetness on his face or the fact that he was fully dressed to go out before he kissed the baritone hard.

Mitch morphed the kissing into full-blown making out, his tongue in Scott's mouth, one of his hands reaching for the covers to pull on them. He knew that the taller man was naked underneath.

Exactly what he wanted.

"Whoa, whoa." Scott broke away, pinned underneath his boyfriend and gazing at him with eyes that were slightly unfocused. The brunette proceeded to paint butterfly kisses on his pale neck, lightly sucking the skin there. "Mitchie, what's going on?"

"What does it look like?" Mitch bit down on the spot he had chosen, eliciting a muffled moan from his partner. He pressed his lips to the purpling skin (that hickey was going to last for a while). Reaching for the end of the blanket that was all the way at their feet, he snuck his hand upward, invisible save for the dent it made in the covers as it inched forward.

"W-W-What are you-" Scott sucked in a breath. "Oh...oh, god, that-" He let out an unnaturally high-pitched whine. " _Oh!_ Please do that again!"

Mitch did. His partner shuddered in pleasure.

The unexpectedness of the attack forced the blonde's toes to curl and his fingers to clench. He hadn't forgotten how exellent his lover was with his fingers, but fucking hell, he didn't mind a reprise.

It was over quicker than the small brunette would've liked. Scott's moans got louder and louder until he was blushing with embarassment as well as desire. Mitch made sure to prove that he didn't care, twisting his fingers a certain way, just like _that._ The motion was too much for Scott. In the next instance, the covers were sticky along with the tinier mans hand.

Panting, the baritone managed to say, "What was...that all...about..."

His counterpart didn't seem to hear him. Barely smirking, Mitch began the process once more, but this time the gleam in his eyes told Scott what he wanted for Round 2 (his ass hurt, but he could give a shit).

It was very, very, very difficult. Probably the most difficult thing the young Hoying had done in his life. He slowly placed his hand on top of Mitch's (it was still underneath the blanket) to halt him, used his other to tilt the other singers chin so he could see his eyes, and whispered, "Mitch. I love you. I love how you make me feel and I love that I can make you feel good. But first. Tell me what's wrong."

Like a switch had been flicked, the countertenor turned his head, suddenly ashamed to meet the gaze of not only his boyfriend but his best friend, and removed his talented fingers. He lightly trailed the blonde's thigh, circling up to his hip, and repeated the cycle.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" Mitch asked quietly, lifting his eyes so his big doe eyes were staring right at his other half.

"Yes." Scott replied without hesitation, though the word was said carefully (but honestly). "I think you're the most beautiful boy on the planet."

His easy confirmation only upset the smaller man. Brown pupils filling with fresh tears, he blinked rapidly and let them fall. He could cry in front of Scott. Crying here was okay, safe ground, territory that was respected.

"Mitch." The baritone said softly. He ran his thumb along olive cheeks, sometimes catching tears, sometimes wiping them away. "Talk to me. Please."

Whenever Scott said _Please_ that way, it ensured that words would spill from his partners mouth. He did not hold back. "I went to Starbucks today to get coffee. That's why I was gone. And..." He sniffed. "A boy asked his mom if I was a boy or a girl. And when his mom was apologizing, she's called me ma'am."

"Why are you so upset, then?" The question was phrased in a way that stripped it of any harshness.

"I honestly don't know." Mitch giggled a little, and sniffled again. "I just...I didn't know that I was so androgynous. I mean, I wouldn't mind. I already sound like one...you know I love that, but...do I really look like one, too?" He finally got to the reason why he was so upset, so shocked, so flummoxed. "Are you...are you going out with me because I look like a girl?"

"No." Scott said firmly. "Never, Mitchie. I'm going out with you for the same reason that you asked me out in the first place; because you're my best friend who I can talk to about anything, because you're special and pretty and talented, and because I love you. Not because you look like you could be a girl. Not at all."

"Promise?" The brunette asked softly.

"Promise." Was what was returned equally softly.

The pair kissed. It didn't donation any of the rawness of the kisses they had each experienced a few minutes before; this one carried acceptance and only stood as proof of their strong bong as not only lovers, but best friends.

"I guess I'm going to have to get used to being mistaken for androgynous." Mitch nuzzled his boyfriend. "I promise that I won't be upset about it anymore. I don't think that I was upset in the first place. Just shocked."

The rest of the morning was spent in bed, the two chatting and kissing, before Scitt received a call from Kevin informing them that they were, as always, late for rehearsal.

* * *

The following day, Scott and Mitch walked to Starbucks together, the blonde's arm around the smaller mans waist as they went. They paused in front of a clothing store, debating whether or not they should go inside briefly to buy a pair of jeans. Or maybe another bag.

A girl who looked to be ten years old silently walked up to Scott, her parents also standing in front of the clothing store, one watching her, one peering through the windows. She tapped him on the shoulder, making him turn to glance at her. Mitch turned with him, his sharp eyes settling on the young girl.

"Your girlfriend is really pretty." She whispered to Scott while looking directly at Mitch, thinking that the brunette wouldn't hear.

Mitch shook his head, smiled, and said, "Thank you. You're really pretty too."


	25. Food Obsessions

**Hey, everyone! My apologies; this oneshot is a little late. THIS SHALL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN! Promise! :) I've just been so busy writing other stuff lately (if y'all want some more Scomiche that's written by me along with a little fantasy twist, go check out _The Forest of Orbis._ It's still in its beginning stages, but that little story is chugging steadily along).**

 **The summary: Honestly, just a short, sweet, fluffy oneshot about certain foods that the members of PTX are obsessed with. I know that Scott, Mitch, and Kevin's favorite foods that are listed below are accurate, but I'm not so sure about Avi and Kirstie's. So I made theirs up!**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

"We're having an emergency!" Mitch spat into his phone. "Get your ass plus Avi and Kevin over to the apartment ASAP, sister!"

He could hear Kirstin shuffling around, probably grabbing her purse, keys, and favorite facial expression to wear; determination. Her voice said back just as sharply, "What happened? Should I bring anything special?" She asked this because she might need to grab a first-aid kit or something to that extent. Her friend seemed panicked and concerned.

"Yeah. Tell Meat and Potatoes to bring their favorites foods and some sleeping bags. You too." The countertenor returned, his tone steely.

There was a muffled crackling. Mitch could picture the mezzo pausing in her tracks out of confusion.

" _Favorite foods and sleeping bags...wha-_ "

"No time to explain!" He cut her off before her question could be formed. "Just be here, 'kay? Hurry."

" _Alright, Mitch, whatever you say._ " In the next second the line went dead. The singer checked his phone to make sure, nodded, and then punched in a number that he knew by heart. Three down, one to go. This was a lot easier than he thought it was going to be.

Ringing filled one of Mitch's ears, shrill and annoying. He tapped his foot impatiently. Where had Scott said he'd gone off to today? Wasn't he working on something with Esther or something-

A semi-deep voice sounded through the phone. " _Hi, queen. What's up?_ "

"You need to come home right now."

" _It's your day to clean the litter box, therefore you have no proper reason to kill me. And I fed Wyatt before I left this afternoon. So ha!_ "

"Whatever, Hoying. Please come home? This is really serious. Avi, Kevin, and Kirstie are on their way already."

" _...what happened? Are you okay?_ "

"I won't be if you don't move that fantastic butt that God gave you and get home right now. It's urgent."

Static-y conversation between Scott and Esther was heard by Mitch, though he could only make out bits and pieces of what they were talking about (something to do with sunscreen, pancakes, and blankets. Weird people, those two are). It took a moment, but the baritone put the phone back to his ear and replied, " _Okay. I'll be there in twenty minutes._ "

"Great! Bye babe!" The brunette hastily bid his goodbye and pressed the _End Call_ button.

Immediately he let out a long sigh of relief. Phew. The difficult part was over. Now it was time to set up.

Mitch ran around his apartment as quickly as he could and attempted to do multiple things at once; move the coffee table so there was room for the group to all sit on the floor, picking up a meowing Wyatt from his place on top of the bookshelf and setting him on the couch, cleaning the kitchen, and finally sprinting into his room to change his clothes. Currently he was in his rehearsal clothes (jeans, a cute red button-up, and Converse) and scrabbled to get into something more comfortable.

By the time that the doorbell rang the small singer had put everything in its place and was ready to answer it. He opened the door calmly to meet the startled, eager eyes of four of his closest friends, all clutching sleeping bags and random items of food.

"We came as fast as we could." Kevin said to break the silence. The others nodded, a little surprised that Mitch didn't look as urgent as they had expected.

"Great." His high voice replied. He opened the door further. "C'mon in, peasants."

Nobody moved.

"Uh...what's the emergency?" Avi's deep tone sounded as he raised an eyebrow. By the looks of it, there were no broken bones, blood, or gore. Then again, why would they need sleeping bags and snacks to tackle broken bones, blood, or gore? "We came as fast as we could."

"If you would come into the damn apartment, I'd tell you what the emergency was." Mitch opened the door further.

One by one, the members of Pentatonix entered the space. Scott was the last to come in but the first to send his other half a knowing look. In response Mitch grinned up at him, stood on his toes, and gave the blonde a light kiss. The two had been dating of a few weeks now, and reveled in the fact that they could kiss the other whenever they wanted. Another plus was that their lips could meet without somebody sending them a weird look.

Moments later, the groups had laid down their sleeping bags in the place where the coffee table used to be, opening bags of snacks and passing them around so they could have something to do with their hands as they waited. Mitch (predictably) sat in Scott's lap, the baritone winding an arm around his waist so that he wouldn't slip off.

"Ok, Mitch." Kevin popped a piece of popcorn (he was pretty much obsessed with the treat) in his mouth and crunched on it thoughtfully. "What's up? Did you and Scott have a fight and want to talk about it?"

There was a snort from above the brunette's head. "Since when has that ever happened?"

No one said anything because it was true. Even after the pair had transitioned from being best friends to actual boyfriends, they never fought. Ever. About anything. Maybe about which person standing in front of them in their favorite clothing store had the weirdest haircut, but that didn't count.

"Someone was nasty to you, made you cry, and now you want to confide in us?"

This time it was Mitch's turn to snort. "Yeah, sure. Poor little defenseless me. Keep thinking that's going to happen, Avi."

"You have a really awesome song idea that you think could be a hit and you want our approval?"

"Nope."

"You killed somebody?"

"If I did you would never know or find the body."

Kirstie rolled her eyes. "Then what did you yank us all away from our schedules for? I have to go over some wedding plans with Jeremy, Kevin has a cello class that he has to teach later, Avi's making a video for A Cappella Academy that he's gotta film, and Scott was out with Esther shopping for new microphones. What's the emergency? We have stuff we have to do."

Her uncharacteristic snapping caused an equally uncharacteristic scowl to form on the countertenor's features. The expression looked wrong on his normally neutral face. "There is no emergency."

A chorus of groans and irritated huffing was the response he got. The group started to get up and snatch their things, preparing to leave and get back to their busy lives; Scott made a move to jostle his boyfriend off of him, though he did so with an apologetic glance, not a frown or annoyed sound.

"Sit your asses back down right the hell now!" Mitch commanded. His tone was serious and no-nonsense. That meant that he was in Queen Mitch mode, and anyone who dared to defy his orders would surely be sorry.

Reluctantly, the other four-fifths of Pentatonix sat back down.

Mitch lifted his head regally. "Now share your snacks like good little boys and girls and let me speak."

They shared their snacks like good little boys and girls and let him speak.

"I told you guys that there was an emergency because I had to get us all together in one place." He began, leaning against his warm boyfriend. Scott pressed his mouth to the dark brown locks that rested on top of his counterparts head and shifted his weight. A silent message that he was going to get up. He did so, leaving Mitch on the floor, and went to the kitchen. "Kirstie just proved my point; we've all been so damn busy that we can't even spend time together anymore, just the five of us. I had to tell you guys there was an emergency to convince you to come over. How sad is that, queen?"

All slowly agreed that yes, that was pretty sad, queen.

"So I want us to sit here for at least..." He peeked at the watch he had on his right wrist. "Thirty minutes. And talk. Then we can get back to the insanity that is our lives."

"Talk about what?" Avi carefully extracted a licorice strand from the package. Grinning, Kevin threw a popcorn kernel at the bass, who smiled and unexpectedly caught it in his mouth. Kirstie, despite herself, giggled.

The small man wracked his brain for a topic. "We could talk about...um..." At that moment, Scott walked back into the room carrying a spoon and a large jar of peanut butter. "We could talk about why we're so obsessed with certain foods. Babe, why on earth are you so attached to peanut butter?"

Everybody turned to stare at the tall blonde who instantly got a deer-in-the-headlights expression. He couldn't speak because his mouth was so full of nutty goodness, so when he attempted to do so this came out: "Mmmhhhrpp?"

Kevin coughed once to cover his chortle, but when Scott got a frustrated/concentrated look to his features as he tried to get peanut butter unstuck from the roof of his mouth, the beat boxer couldn't take it anymore and burst into laughter. Mitch joined him after a second. Come on! That was too funny!

Finally Scott managed to swallow the giant mouthful he had ingested, giggling a little as well. "Because, Mitchie, it's _so good_. Plus there's a crapton of protein in peanut butter. How else do you think I get these muscles?" He used one of his arms to flex, the other to both hold the jar, dip his spoon back into it, and shove it into his mouth. That only made Kevin and Mitch laugh harder.

"What about you, Mitch? I've never seen you obsess over any food." Kirstin was glad to have a topic to chat about. She had to admit, it was nice to just goof off with her friends a not worry about anything for a short while.

"I eat bags of shredded cheese." He said after his giggles subsided and he had thought for a moment. Shredded cheese wasn't too weird. Everybody likes cheese.

"Yeah." Scott said coherently around his peanut butter. "When you're drunk."

Now Avi joined the growing laughter.

"Hey!" Mitch smacked his other half's arm. "I don't just eat shredded cheese when I'm drunk! I eat other stuff besides that."

Scott was on a roll now. "Uh-huh. He pretty much drains the salsa bowl."

"HAHAHA!" Kirstie clutched her sides as her _ha-ha-ha-ing_ made her ribs hurt. "That's so weird! Why _salsa?_ You couldn't pick something like nachos or whatever?"

"Salsa is good!" The tiny man defended. "Scott, I'm going to kill you!" He launched himself at the blonde, who had sat on the floor next to him. Setting his peanut butter aside so it wouldn't tip over, he caught his lover and they wrestled playfully.

"Scott can't live without peanut butter, Mitch is crazy about salsa and shredded cheese, and Curvy inhales popcorn literally every single day." The bassist counted off on his fingers as he raised his voice over the sounds of the tussling match.

Kevin looked up from his bag o' popcorn. "How did you know that?"

"I live with you, first of all. Second, you always buy it when we go to the store, and third, you're eating it right now."

"Popcorn isn't too strange." The mezzo nodded, tucking her knees underneath her chin.

Scott, breathless from rolling around with his partner, called from his spot on top of said partner, "At least it's not as weird as salsa or shredded-ack!" Mitch had been slyly biting the shell of the baritone's ear, and had switched from that to a sensitive spot by his neck. The taller man rolled them back over and they resumed play fighting.

"I really like chocolate." Kirstie admitted, smiling at her two occupied best friends. Avi and Kevin heartily agreed. "One time Jeremy got me this really nice box that had caramel, mint, and strawberry filled chocolate pieces, and it was really good. I had to keep it out of the dogs reach, though. They always begged me whenever I took out the box."

"How's Olaf adjusting to the new dog?" Avi questioned. He was now braiding three pieces of licorice together (when you have a sister, and that sister is Esther, you learn quite a few things).

"Well enough. They're both still getting used to being in a fresh environment."

Suddenly, uncontrollable laughter sounded to the group's right. Scott had resorted to tickling the small countertenor, thereby forcing his high-pitched voice to gasp, "I give in! I give in!"

Chuckling (though he was breathing hard), the baritone crawled off of his boyfriend and smirked. "I win."

"Whatever!" Mitch panted, heaving himself into a sitting position. Even if he meant to kid, the taller man could clearly see that his teasing had upset his other half a little bit, and took his thin arm to tug him close. Kissing him firmly, Scott said, "I was joking. You know I support you in all of your endeavors."

A grumbling noise answered him. Scott silenced this with another kiss.

"I will say that I like ribs." Avi contemplated this thought a bit longer. "Yeah, that's my signature food. Ribs. Drenched in barbecue sauce."

"Did you ever think that baby back ribs ever came from a babies back?" Kevin asked curiously.

"...no. Did you?"

"Uh..."

Kirstie and Avi started laughing again.

"Hey guys." Mitch's voice broke through the comfortable bubble of conversation. The three singers gave him their attention. His face was flushed a light pink, his breathing slightly toiled, and his eyes struggling to remain fully open and not half-lidded. They could see why; Scott had attached his mouth to the brunette's olive-colored neck. That was probably pretty distracting. "Great talk. Thirty minutes is up. If you don't mind, the Queen would now like some privacy with her King. We can catch up later, yeah?"

They quickly picked up what their friend was putting down. They also hurried to pick up their food, sleeping bags, and other things. Kevin was the first one to say his goodbye (not astoundingly) and dragged Avi out the door with him. Kirstie gave a wave that was returned, before she closed the door behind her.

Mitch unwillingly broke away from his partner's embrace to lock the door and begin a night of fun.

Outside, as the three made their way down the stairs, Kevin asked another question. "Has Scott or Mitch ever talked to you about their relationship?"

Kirstie, holding her Almond Joy bar close to her chest (and also used to the sudden changes in conversation topics), replied, "Yeah, of course. They're completely in love with each other."

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Have they ever explained how kissing is supposed to make you feel?"

The mezzo stopped in her tracks in the middle of the stairway to send Kevin a weird look. Avi knew what his best friend was trying to ask without asking and explained to her, "Kevin went on a date the other night and kissed the girl. But he said he didn't feel anything."

"Ooh." Kirstie nodded in understanding. She continued to rush down the stairwell (the damned elevator was broken). "Well, Mitch told me that sometimes when Scott kisses him, he feels kinda drunk."

"So..." The beat boxer grinned. "After they make out he eats salsa and shredded cheese?"

Their roaring laughter could be heard from at least four blocks away.


	26. Stuck

**Hi everyone! The weekly oneshot you've all been waiting for has arrived!**

 **This oneshot was inspired by a Superfruit video, in which Scott and Mitch are doing a Q &A and are asked which they would rather give up, pants or shirts (I think the video I'm referencing is 'MITCH'S PLUMP BUTT'. Gotta love that title). Since you guy seemed to enjoy _Maudit_ , and that has a little bit of a magical twist, I incorporated more of that magic into this oneshot. I hope you guys enjoy it! :)**

 **The summary: Which would you rather give up; pants or shirts? Pretty harmless decision, no? Well, Scott and Mitch find out exactly how harmless it is when they're forced to be without said articles of clothing. And the countertenor is just saying, Scott looks really good without a shirt.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

Monday morning hadn't felt different from any other Monday morning at first. Mitch had woken up in his bedroom, wishing that he had had the courage the night before to ask Scott (his best friend in the entire universe) to sleep next to him (it sounds weird, but once you've been wrapped up in one of the snuggles that man gives out, you'd crave them like crazy too), before sighing and slowly removing himself from the covers.

Wyatt jumped onto the bed the second his owner got off, meowing. The brunette offered the sphynx a tired smile as he scratched the bald ears of his kitty.

"Your Mommy misses your Daddy." Mitch told the cat. He continued to pet Wyatt, who purred in response. "Hmm...maybe I'll go see if your Daddy's up so we can get coffee together."

Decidedly he gestured for the kitty to scurry after him as he exited his room. Wyatt followed the countertenor's command and leapt towards the ground. The pair had a conversation when they walked down the hall together, mostly consisting of Mitch musing to his cat whether he should order a vanilla or a caramel latte today. They were both really good options.

Scott's bedroom door didn't creak (thankfully), allowing Mitch to sneakily peek inside of his room to find his other half was still asleep. In order to make sure, because the baritone wasn't above faking sleep so his smaller counterpart would get his coffee for him, Mitch silently walked to the side of his friends bed and carefully pulled the covers away from the blonde's still figure.

Two bright blue eyes, shocking and captivating, stared right into a set of dark brown ones. Said person who had dark brown eyes resisted the urge to take a step back in surprise, as Scott wasn't usually awake at seven a.m., but while his brain was picking his next move the taller man was smiling softly in greeting.

"Hey, Mitchie." Scott said, his semi-deep tone slurred with sleep. He yawned. "I'm still like half-asleep. So don't drag me out of bed to Starbucks yet, okay?" His eyes closed.

"Well, what am I supposed to do if I can't do that?" Mitch asked teasingly. Of course, he knew of other things to do, he just wanted to be around his bestie while doing those other things.

His counterpart's eyes opened again. Scott pushed some of the covers aside and said, with only a little bleariness in his voice, "Cuddle with me."

Gently, so that he wouldn't jostle Scott too much, Mitch climbed onto the bed (wearing only an oversized shirt and his undergarments, just saying. Oh, and Scott didn't have on a shirt, just his pj bottoms. What a morning) and laid down beside the blue-eyed man. His tiny body was quickly brought closer and closer and closer until the brunette could feel the heat radiating off of his other half as their skin pressed together.

"Mmm...you're warm." The blonde threw all of the covers off and pretty much buried the countertenor underneath his frame.

Mitch laughed. "You are too, you sleepy idiot. Now get off of me."

He tried to remove the arm that was slung on top of his waist by pushing it a little (fruitless, really. They both knew who would win the battle when it came to physical strength). Scott chuckled at the attempt, tightening his hold and shivering a little. The smaller man felt him press his cold toes to his calf.

"Shit! You're freezing!"

"I slept alone last night, first of all, and second, you turned the air on."

"It was too hot last night and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah." Scott mumbled in defeat as he set his mouth against Mitch's arm. He sighed in contentment, his bright pupils lazing shut. "I never want to get up."

The brunette couldn't hide his astonishment. He let this be known as he combed his fingers through golden locks. "You're cuddly this morning. You miss me the eight hours you were asleep, Sis?"

Without moving his position the baritone made a pouting expression. Mitch giggled at the rendition. "I did, in fact, miss you the eight hours I was asleep. But I guess that I've woken up now because I can tell you want to walk to Starbucks right now."

"Rehearsal is in two hours. How are we going to get through it without caffeine?"

At the question, Scott detangled himself from his best friend (not failing to notice the pink blush that was barely peeking form his high cheeks) only to send the singer a goofy grin. "You're one hundred percent right, Queen Mitch. Art thou ready to set off?"

Mitch giggled again and casually slipped from the sheets. His arms went up over his head as he stretched in a way that quite resembled a cat. "Nearly, peasant. I have to get dressed. So do you." He let his gaze linger on the sight before him; Scott Hoying, sexy tall blonde, lacking a shirt and hugging a pillow to his bare chest with a smile. He looked good. Better than good. Much, much better than...wait, what? "I mean, _I_ wouldn't mind you walking around half-naked, but I think the general public would."

A blonde eyebrow was raised in suggestion. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Yup." The brunette made his way to the door in fluid steps. He turned on his heel to wink and blow his other half a kiss. "I'm telling you to _put on a damned shirt._ "

There was a _slam_ noise that resonated from the wall inches from his sharp face; the sound of a pillow hitting the area. Mitch's face morphed into one that taunted, _Ha ha, missed me, bitch!_ No other words escaped his lips as he left and traipsed his way down the hall the way he had come. He was also pretty satisfied that he'd gotten a morning snuggle.

Time for Mitchie to choose an outfit for that day. While his wooden closet creaked and groaned, the tiny man was mulling over his choices for that day; possibly a simple black-and-white collaboration...he could make that sapphire blue top work with those sky-patterned jeans...ooh, his silver septum piercing could match that bracelet...

A few minutes had passed before a complete ensemble was picked. Dark jeans, a deep grey shirt with equally deep red paint splatters all over it as the design, Converse, and his black twisted choker. Perfect.

The shirt and choker went on easily, as they always did, and as most pieces of clothing do. But here's where the regular Monday morning went from regular to weird-ass.

When Mitch tried to tug on his jeans, he couldn't. Literally. He couldn't do it. Each time his feet got close to the fabric, the clothing would repel the second his toes came within an inch of them. He first dismissed this as imagination (it was seven in the morning. Anything can happen at seven in the morning), but as try after try failed, he started to become a mix of frustrated, worried, and confused.

Again, he yanked his jeans onto his legs, and the fabric didn't even cover his whole foot when it decided to yank back. The jeans removed themselves from his hands and crumpled in a heap on the closet floor.

Okay...what the literal fuck.

"Scott!" The countertenor called, not caring that he wasn't fully dressed. "Scott, get your butt in my room!"

In a millisecond, it seemed, the taller man was leaning on the doorway looking more awake than Mitch had left him. He still hadn't put a shirt on. "What are you yelling about? Did you cut your nose with your piercing again?"

"No." Subconsciously the singer reached up to feel at his nose, remembering the incident with painful clarity. "No, it's not that. I can't put my pants on."

Scott tilted his head in puzzlement. "Huh? Are you sure you're not..." His voice trailed off when Mitch demonstrated for him, watching as the jeans practically flew out of his thin hands and back onto the floor. "Alright, that's freaky as shit."

"Told you." The brunette, growing strongly irritated, tried yet again to pull pants on. The ending result didn't change. "What the hell? You're seeing this too, right?"

"Yeah, I'm seeing that too." The blonde bit his lip. "Try wearing shorts instead."

Mitch tried; he tried a different pair of jeans, shorts, leather, slacks, and pretty much every bottom he had in his closet (there were many). Nothing worked.

"I'm so sick of this! It's like I'm stuck wearing everything except pants!" He threw the khaki shorts he was holding into the dirty laundry bin, fed up. Huffing, he stood on his tippy-toes and pawed around for a shirt.

"Why are you looking for a-"

"Since pants apparently won't stay on me, I'm going to have to wear an oversized shirt and call it a dress." Mitch latched onto a hanger that carried an XXL shirt that he usually wore to bed...when he paused. Hold on a second...why did those words sound so familiar exiting his lips? His eyes flicked from a confused Scott to the shirt and then repeated the process. Something dawned on him. "Ah, shit."

"What?"

"Have you tried to put on a shirt since you woke up?"

"No...I was going to but then you called me in here."

"As much as it pains me to say this, you need to cover those muscles of yours and try to put on a shirt. Keyword _try_. I have an idea." Mitch grabbed his counterpart's hand and dragged him from his closet to Scott's. The contrast between the two areas was almost funny; while Mitch's closet was full of clothes that were strange, interesting, and borderline chic, Scott's wardrobe consisted of tank tops, a few professional shirts, show outfits, and sandals.

God, they were two different people.

Scott, prompted by his smaller half, grabbed a random top (a plain black t-shirt) and gave his best shot at slipping it over his head like he did every time he wore a shirt.

"Ack!" The baritone yelped in pain as the shirt tore away from his fingers, similar to the way the pants had evaded Mitch. "It burned me! How does a shirt burn you?"

"No clue." A high-pitched voice piped up. "You know what, though? Remember when we were filming Superfruit yesterday and somebody Tweeted us asking which we would give up, pants or shirts, and you said shirt and I said pants?"

The taller man's eyes widened. "You don't think..."

"We've actually given them up." Mitch finished the thought, nodding solemnly. "And now we're wearing just pants or just shirts. We're...we're stuck."

Scott rubbed the coarse material of the top, wishing that he could put it on. "For how long?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

So here's what's bogus about not being able to wear half of an outfit:

1) You get cold.

2) You look like you belong in an insane asylum when you got out in public.

3) If you're the one wearing a shirt, it's immensely complicated to resist staring at the person who _is not_ wearing a shirt.

4) You get really, REALLY fucking cold.

Mitch shuddered into the couch cushions. Drawing his knees to his chest, he, for the tenth time, tore his eyes away from a shirtless Scott and dug around his mind to try and think of something else. The blonde didn't notice, too preoccupied babbling into his phone to Avi, who was babbling back just as quickly. Kirstie and Kevin had already been contacted and asked to stop by the apartment before rehearsal, though the band members had no idea what their friends needed to notify them of. But, loyal as they always were, they said they would be there in fifteen minutes.

Ten minutes had already gone by, many of which were spent staring at somebody that lacked a shirt. Mitch's brain couldn't help itself and was procuring thoughts that were not exactly hey-I'm-not-into-you-because-we're-best-friends appropriate. The countertenor shook off his slightly naughty ponderings. Seriously? The second a shirt came off his mind had to get all weird?

"Avi says he'll be here in five. Kevin is picking him up." Scott's voice sounded. He clicked his hone off and rubbed his eyes tiredly, yawning first, and then stretching.

"Would you stop doing that?" Mitch said, irritated. It was like his other half was begging to make out or something. Bitch.

"Stop doing what? Stretching?" The baritone shot back. "Excuse me for being exhausted. But since we didn't go to Starbucks like we usually do I'm missing my caffeine rush. So I'm tired. God." He rubbed his face again. "I hope the gang can help us figure this out."

"What is there left to figure out? You can only wear pants and I can only wear shirts and fuck, I'm so damn cold!" The brunette trembled violently. His oversized shirt-dress wasn't enough to completely warm him.

Expression going from annoyed to mischievous in a heartbeat, Scott ambled to his counterpart and plopped down next to him. He slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "Aww, then I guess I'm going to have to make you warm."

Said counterpart offered up a wary smile and opened his mouth to say something in return, but the doorbell rang and he didn't get the chance. Giving the smaller man a playful kiss on the cheek, Scott grinned and picked himself up to answer the door. This action gave the singer an excellent view of the curve of the blonde's shoulder blades and the smooth skin of his back.

Mitch resisted the urge to sigh. _Yummy._

Voices began to flit through the air, curious, questioning, and excited. Kirstin was the first to enter the room, therefore the first to spot her friend, and therefore the first to take Scott's place on the seat beside the countertenor. Her eyebrows arched in surprise when she noticed her fellow band member wasn't wearing pants.

"What is with you and Scott being half-naked?" She asked, gesturing to Mitch's half-naked-ness. Granted, he was more covered than his best friend, as his shirt shielded most of his bare skin from view, but still. One looks weird when they squish their body underneath a giant shirt.

Mitch breathed out heavily through his nose. "You'll see. We'll explain everything when you all get settled."

'Getting settled' meant that Avi and Kevin could walk in the room, also comment on the two-fifths of Pentatonix's state of undress, sit down on the floor next to each other, then Kirstie sending Mitch a certain look when she noticed his eyes locked onto Scott unshamefully, and then the baritone sweeping in like the hero he was to save Mitch from that embarrassing situation, only to yank him into another equally embarrassing situation.

As in, now the best friends were standing in the middle of their living room, half naked, with no clue as to where to start their explanation.

Kevin broke the silence. "Are...um...are you two going to get dressed?"

"We would if we could. But we can't. So we won't." Mitch said drily. "I'm not going to beat around the bullshit, so I'm just gonna say it; Scott and I woke up this morning and found out that he can't wear a shirt and I can't wear pants."

"God, Mitchie, you're right, it's cold as hell in this house." Scott added, crossing his arms over his chest to retain body heat.

"It's actually really nice in here." Avi commented. The air in the house felt cool, but comfortably so.

"It probably feels fine for somebody who has all of their clothes on!"

"Calm, Mitch." The tall man soothed. He directed his words to the bass. "If you don't believe us, we can show you what we mean. Mitch, take off your shirt."

"What?" Was what was squeaked in protest. If he removed his shirt, he'd be standing in front of the group in nothing but his underwear. Sure, he was an exhibitionist, but only at specific times. Not in front of his closest friends. Nu-uh. "Is this some sort of ruse to get me naked, babe, because all you really had to do was ask-"

Scott unexpectedly laughed. His blue eyes twinkled good-naturedly. "I'll be sure to take you up on that offer later." He let loose without thinking. Suddenly the room was engulfed in silence. Everybody gaped at the baritone, who flushed red in embarrassment. You could really tell he was blushing, too, as the absence of a shirt let one observe his neck and shoulders. He cleared his throat. "Um. Can I have your shirt to demonstrate?"

 _Did he just flirt with me?_ Mitch wondered as he slowly stripped himself of the single piece of clothing this weird spell magic thing permitted him to wear. Wordlessly, he handed the garment to Scott, and in the same move discreetly hid his exposed body behind his best friend. The queen wished for privacy. And her shirt back. _Like, actually for real I'm-considering-taking-up-your-offer-like-the-one-you-made-about-me-seeing-you-naked flirting?! Hmm...oh, Scotland has a nice back._

Scott showed how the fabric caused a stinging pain in his hands and leapt from his fingers when he attempted to put it on. He also explained the decision that the pair had made during the Superfruit episode the previous day and how somehow magic had come down and made their teasing answers reality.

"Okay." Kevin blinked a few times. Kirstie and Avi copied him, still not comprehending this whole ordeal. Magic? Really? "So now you can't wear shirts, and Mitch can't wear pants?"

"Yup." He nodded, twisting his hips to hand the top back to the one who needed it. Scott whispered so low only Mitch could hear him; "Sorry about that. I'll make it up to you later. Promise."

"You better, mister, or else no more morning cuddles." The tinier singer replied sassily, pulling his oversized shirt back over his head.

"Please." The blonde grinned. "We both know you need them more than me." Mitch slapped his shoulder, earning a yip. "Ow! That hurts more when you don't have a shirt!"

"It's too bad that I'm wearing one, huh?" A sly smile worked its way across the brunette's features.

Avi drew the two into the conversation going on without them. "Hey, lovebirds, focus. Kirstie's talking strategy."

Mitch tugged Scott onto the couch with him, placing a hand on the baritone's thigh (in an area that forced the taller man to gulp: that warm little hand was tantalizingly high up on his leg). "Talk, girl. I want to be able to wear pants tomorrow."

The mezzo soprano finished listening to the quiet words Kevin was saying, and nodded at the group. "Kevin and I think we've figured this whole strange mess out. Alright, here's what we think you guys have to do; you have to give up something opposite to each other in order to fix this."

"Explain, please." Mitch prompted.

"Well, you and Scott each gave up something opposite of each other, pants and shirts. If you gave up something different, but still opposite, like one of you giving up chocolate and the other vanilla, than you guys might be bale to dress right again. Or, at least, that's the theory."

"Okay, first of all, I'm not going to be giving up chocolate so it's going to have to be you, Sis." The small countertenor jutted his chin at Scott, whose face morphed into silent protest.

"We don't think it has to be chocolate or vanilla." The beat boxer crunched his eyebrows together. "Just things that contrast."

"Fine then." Mitch set his head against his fellow singer's bare shoulder. Knowing him, he was most likely going to think up something random and crazy. "If you had to have brown or blue eyes, which would you pick, Scotty?"

"Duh, brown. Brown eyes are really bold."

"Oh, good, because I was going to pick blue. I've always wanted blue eyes, did I tell you?"

"Wait, wait, can you guys put on your clothes now?" Kevin asked, halting the long talk that was sure to commence if it wasn't stopped before it could begin.

Once again, Mitch took his shirt off and handed it to his counterpart, who failed in putting it on. They would just have to wait until tomorrow to see if anything had changed.

At the time, though, rehearsal needed to happen, as Mitch and Scott couldn't leave the apartment half-naked. Tour for the group was going to start soon, anyway, so they were required to practice. Hours passed as the group sang _Can't Sleep Love_ (in which Scott wagged his eyebrows at the brunette as he sung the lead), _Papaoutai_ (where the blonde did not fail to impress all of them with his ability to recite French at a rapid-fire speed), and _Love Again._ Just for fun afterwards, Pentatonix launched into a mash up of all three songs at once.

" _Taste the pain right on my tongue-_ "

" _...have I lost my mind?_ "

" _Ou t'ai, papa ou t'ai-_ "

" _Dance until the morning sun-_ "

" _Because I can't do it anymore!_ "

Scott wrapped up the ending verse with a trademark riff. The group burst into laughter at the expression he made as he did it.

"Well, that was a good use of..." Avi checked his watch. "Three hours." His green eyes assessed the pair that called themselves Scomiche. "If you two don't mind, Kirstie and Kevin and I were planning on getting lunch with Esther and Darien. Do you mind if we...?"

"Yeah, leave us here, peasants. Queen Mitch can rule her kingdom quite fine without a few of her subjects." The queen herself shooed the three out the door, wishing to spend the rest of the late afternoon and night alone with her King.

Scott chuckled when Mitch returned to sitting next to him. "You just kicked our three closest friends out of our apartment."

"Well, yeah, but only because I wanted to spend some quality time with you." The tiny man shrugged. "Oh, well."

"You're terrible."

"Hmm...only to and for you." Mitch said softly. He removed his hand from the baritone's thigh and trailed it up his bare chest. Scott quickly became distracted. "How about this. You and me stay in your bedroom the rest of the night and watch movies."

Neither man uttered a word for a second, before the countertenor said, "Oh, fuck it." And pressed their lips together.

* * *

Mitch took one look at his reflection and let out a high-pitched scream.

It wasn't long until Scott flew into the bathroom, only partially dressed (and yes, he was wearing a shirt today, he just hadn't gotten around to tugging on bottoms. Meaning the weird stuck position they had been in had dissolved) because he had just gotten out of bed. The two had made out a lot the night before, though they hadn't had proper intercourse, but still.

Rest assured, people, clothing was removed.

Also, Mitch had woken up ten minutes ago to put on his outfit for the day and smear some concealer underneath his eyes. He had been under the impression that his favorite blonde was still asleep, and was only finding out now that the baritone had literally woken thirty seconds ago.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Scott asked, his heart pounding.

The brunette pointed to the bathroom mirror. It showed a short, olive-skinned man with dark brown hair and a thin frame. He looked to be of Italian decent, with a sharp chin and equally sharp cheekbones. However, what was the real kicker was the fact that his eyes were...

Scott stared into the glass at his own reflection, looking the same as it always did (portraying a tall, golden-haired man with skin the color of porcelain and a defined jawline), except for one thing.

Turning to face their other half, a blue-eyed Mitch Grassi and a brown-eyed Scott Hoying said, at the same time, "Ah, shit."


	27. Scaredy Cat

**Hey you guys! Another week, another oneshot!**

 **This oneshot was inspired by yet another Tweet, one where Scott claims Mitch shows him a scary movie while they are on a plane ride and tells the blonde that it isn't that scary, and Scott is pretty much shaking at the end of it. I also just watched _The Conjuring 2_ and was inspired by the freakiness of that movie as well (by the way, that movie is amazing!).**

 **The summary: Scott and Mitch feel very differently about scary movies. Mitch thinks that they're not too awful, while Scott is frightened so badly by them that the memories haunt his visit to a hotel. Things just keep getting weirder and weirder from there onward.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Hold my hand." Scott demanded, grabbing for the olive-toned fingers of his best friend. Mitch rolled his eyes and swatted at the blonde, purposefully stepping to the other side of the sidewalk in order to keep a few inches between the pair.

"Would you stop it? It was only a movie." The brunette said. He turned his face towards the sky, pitch black, and to the wind, cool and breezy. It was a nice night that evening, so nice that it had convinced Mitch to take his other half out to a local movie theatre to see a horror flick. Halloween was two weeks away, but still. That didn't mean one couldn't get into the spirit of the holiday.

"Only a movie?" A semi-deep voice protested. He nervously swiveled his head to look around the dark street the two singers were walking along. "Um, no. That was one of the scariest movies I have ever seen in my life."

This made the smaller man laugh. "It wasn't even that scary! Babe, come on. I almost marched to the ticket booth to get our money back."

Something scurried off to Scott's right. He let out a very unmanly squee and ran to Mitch's side so he could press against it in startlement. They both froze for a second, the countertenor leaning towards the noise and peering, while the baritone bit his lip ferociously, so hard that he drew blood. Please please please, dear god, he did not want to die tonight.

A cat jumped from the shadows to look up at them. It blinked, meowed, and walked off.

The brown-eyed man sent Scott an even glance. Trying to stop quivering, the tall man moved away and took a shaky breath. "That thing scared the shit out of me."

"No, really? I thought you were hiding behind me for fun." Was the sarcastic reply. After a half-hearted apology and a sigh had been exchanged they set off again. The hotel that the group Pentatonix was staying at was only a fifteen minute walk from the theater, so Mitch and Scott had gone to enjoy themselves before the show they would have to perform the following day. Er, at least Mitch enjoyed himself. Scott was so skittish that he jumped at every noise.

What? That movie had been freaky as hell!

How could a person not be scared out of their mind after watching somebody puke blood, become possessed, screech like they were burning in a pit of lava, and then contort their bodies in such a way that their bones should have snapped?

And that was only the first twenty minutes!

Hell no!

Breathing unevenly, the man with blue eyes tried to pull himself together. His racing heart wasn't helping matters. Is this what an incoming panic attack felt like? He shoved the images of scary stuff out of his mind and began a new subject of conversation. "We have to check into the hotel when we get there, right?"

"Yeah." A high-pitched voice answered. "Kirstie called me before the movie to give me updates: Avi and Kevin are rooming, she's got her own room, and since Esther only picked three rooms, you and I are sharing like we always do."

For some reason Scott smiled at this. "I'm going to feel a lot better with you in the room with me."

"Will you really?" Mitch asked, sending his best friend a curious look. Had he truly been that frightened by the film?

"Yes." He replied honestly.

The brunette shook his head at his counterpart's silliness and closed the distance between them while he fulfilled a request by taking Scott's hand. The blonde immediately sighed in relief, pressing the sides of their bodies together, drawing comfort from not only the warmth but of the reassuring vibe that was now rolling off of the tinier man in waves.

This comfort allowed a playful tone to seep back into his voice, used only when he was being coy. "Want to share a bed with me? It'll be fun."

Mitch rolled his eyes once more at the suggestion. If they did that it would not end well for either man. There would be lots of tickling and peeling away from each other and casual flirting that really wasn't supposed to take place in a platonic relationship. Especially their particular platonic relationship, ever so carefully balanced and teetering on its edge. "Good try, babe. But I'd rather share a bed with a fish."

Scott made an offended face and reached around sharp ribs sneakily so he could tickle the skin there as revenge. Mitch instantly knew what his other half was up to and leapt out of his arms, sprinting down the sidewalk. Despite the fact that he had the heebie-jeebies, the baritone gave chase and they raced all the way back to the hotel.

The taller of the two, since his legs were longer, caught up to the countertenor just as he was about to push open the doors of the four-and-a-half-star, well-manicured hotel doors. Scott ran up behind Mitch, sweeping him off of his feet (literally) as he lifted him into the air by his hips and swung him in a circle.

"Put me down! Put me down!" The queen wriggled to get out of the grasp he was being held in, his shoes hitting the pavement in the following second. Bright laughs filled his royal ears, and he hit a pale arm as punishment. "You're such a bully! I swear, next time I'll bring you to an even scarier movie and I won't tell you about it until you're sitting in your seat screaming your head off!"

Scott shut up pretty quickly at that.

Mitch huffed and re-arranged his brown locks (that _one damned piece of hair!_ ). Opening the door, he gestured for his best friend to enter first and followed him shortly thereafter.

Fear of the unknown simmered down underneath the calming teardrop lights surrounding the front desk. An attendant by the name of Merida, if her nametag was any indicator, was scrolling through the words on her computer screen. She looked up with a smile at the two singers that made their way up to her.

"Good evening. How can I help you tonight?"

"We're Mitch Grassi and Scott Hoying, here to check into the room reserved for us by Esther Koop." Scott said, dismissing the remainder of his fright to a secluded place in his mind.

"Ah." Merida clicked her mouse a few times, narrowing her cyan eyes at the screen. "It says here that Mrs. Koop reserved several rooms...one of which belongs to you gentlemen...yes, here we are. Room 451." She reached for a card that was placed among many others underneath her desk. She handed it to Scott. "Have a great night."

"Thank you." Mitch smiled at the kind woman and dragged the blonde to the elevator. "She was nice. We should put in a good word for her."

They chatted on the ride to the top floor, the mood easy and thankfully no longer injected with fear. Scott was feeling better since he wasn't traipsing on the sidewalk at nine at night, in the open and exposed. Still, he felt slightly creeped by the movie. Oh, well, he could only give it time.

The easy mood continued on the way to their room, and as they unlocked the door. Comfortable conversation faltered when the pair opened the door to reveal the contents of the room.

All of the personal belongings that they had entrusted Esther with were there, the duffle bags and three suitcases stacked neatly on the floor by a small loveseat. The bathroom had been cleaned the previous day, and so had the rich carpet, and the sheets had apparently been changed, because the room smelled of lavender with an undercurrent of bleach. On top of that, there was a well-sized TV perched on a shelf, a mini fridge, and a microwave. It was actually a room with high quality. Except...

There was only one bed.

One king-sized four-poster bed, as fancy as the rest of the room, with curtains that could be drawn to shield whomever slept there. Sitting in such a place that the television could be clearly viewed if the curtains weren't drawn. Four pillows, fluffy and snow white, were set against the wood headboard.

It wasn't the fact that the bed was obviously as high quality as the rest of the hotel and room that made the two men stare. It was the fact that there was only _one_ of it. Not two. One.

"Umm..." Scott said intelligently. "I was just joking about you sharing a bed with me." Well, deep down maybe he wasn't (in his defense, it was normal to have a slight crush on your best friend. Especially if your best friend was attractive, talented, and...and...oh, hell).

The brunette stared for a minute more, and then seemed to snap out of it. "I guess Esther forgot that we're not really married." He turned his pretty brown eyes on a person who rarely resisted their pull. "You're okay with sleeping on the same bed? You're sure?"

"I'm okay with it." The baritone nodded. Sharing a bed with the young Grassi wouldn't be the weirdest thing he'd ever done (though it was certainly one of the most strangely exciting...that sounded creepish).

"Good." Letting a yawn escape, Mitch walked to the grey duffle bag sitting on top of his suitcase and unzipped it. He pulled some necessary items from it; his toothbrush, makeup removal wipes (he'd get concealer all over the pillows), and pajamas (since Scott had seen him naked on a few occasions, that meant he was comfortable wearing only a huge shirt and tiny shorts to bed. It wasn't anything his fellow singer hadn't seen, he was just baring his legs a little. And no, he did not want the blonde's eyes to be glued to him during the night. No, sir, he did not. Nope. Not even a small bit). "I'm jumping in the shower. I'll be-"

"-forty minutes-"

"Fifteen." The tiny man corrected, though this would most likely go untrue. "See you in a few." He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Sounds of a light clicking on were followed by the noises of a humming fan and water hitting the floor of the bathtub.

Scott took his phone from his pocket and checked to see if he had any messages. There was one from Kirstie that he had yet to open.

 _Kirstie: So how was the movie? Mitch didn't tell u how scary it was, did he ;P_

Grinning, the baritone quickly replied.

 _Scott: um no he did not. I'm going to have nightmares O_o_

 _K: Omfg that movie wasn't even that scary!_

 _S: WHY DOES EVERYONE SAY THAT. IT WAS SCARY!_

 _K: did u scream at the part where her legs bend backwards_

 _S: Thx for reminding me. Nightmares here I come. Btw there's only one bed in our room_

 _K: lol! That's so awesome! ;) U won't have nightmares if Mitch cuddles u!_

 _S: I don't know if I rly hate Esther or if I should make her my queen_

 _K: Mitch is ur queen_

 _S: True_

None the matter the situation, Kirstie could always cheer her friend up. The blonde knew that her own single-bed room was a couple doors down, along with Avi and Kevin (who were either watching _Game of Thrones_ or talking in a way that only BFF's can). Maybe he should pay them a visit.

Actually, maybe he should pay Esther a visit. He had a few choice words (never swear words. Nobody ever cussed at Esther. It was just something that wasn't done) he'd like her ears to hear.

It was then, after his texting with Kirstin has ceased, that Scott sat on the loveseat and waited for his turn in the shower. The room felt cold, abandoned. Though the constant sound of the shower was a comfort, it didn't offer much else to the otherwise silent area. Only one light was on besides the light in the bathroom, and it was the lamp that sat on the bedside table located on the right side of the bed. The tall man was paralyzed with fright.

It flickered twice, and then abruptly went out, cloaking the space in darkness. Scott kept his paranoia at bay with little success; his mind was already filling with thoughts of demons in the dark, their talon-like hands as sharp as their insane grins, sliding across his throat before jumping down it to wrap his soul in negative energy.

He'd be a puppet. Just like that girl in the movie. A soulless vessel that could do nothing more than cackle an inhuman cackle while scarlet foam poured from his mouth, his smile as crazy as the spirit whom had taken him over. His bones would morph into rubber, pliable but unnaturally strong, and he'd gain the power to levitate and _then_ -

Suddenly the bathroom door flew open. Scott pressed a hand to his mouth to hold in a terrified squeak. Illumination partnered with a lone shadow were displayed on the floor...except the shadow was moving...TOWARDS HIM OH HELL NO HE DID NOT WANT TO DIE LIKE THIS SWEET JESUS HELP HELP HELP-

"Scott? Why is it so dark?" A familiar tone asked. The shadow stepped into the light instead of staying behind it, and the slightly concerned features of Mitch Grassi searched the silent room for his best friend.

"The light went out." The baritone's voice was about three octaves higher than usual. He noticed that he wasn't breathing properly and focused on fixing that problem.

Mitch, clutching the towel wrapped around his waist, ignored the freezing feeling of the air on the water decorating his skin and walked to the broken lamp. He reached for the bulb, fiddled with it, and the room was bathed in light. This allowed the brunette to see his other half frozen on the cushions of the loveseat, wearing an expression of the purest horror.

"Um..." The countertenor waved a hand in front of his friend's face. "You okay there Isabella?"

Jolting from his reverie, Scott blinked up at Mitch. "I'm good. Just...just a little freaked from the movie is all."

The smaller man offered a warm smile and a shake of his head that lacked any annoyance whatsoever. He then made his way to his duffle bag, digging for the toothpaste that he had forgotten. "Don't let that stuff get to your head, Scotland. That movie was so fake and it was still just a movie."

"It said based on a true story!"

"They always say that." Mitch straightened, holding his towel up in one hand and his toothpaste in his other. This allowed the blue-eyed man a chance to really _look_ at him; water clung to his skin, some trailing down his arms or chest and leaving more in their wake. Almost all of the tiny man's tattoos were visible, something that made him seem a slight bit punkish mixed with rebellious. And he was half naked. Let's not forget that important detail.

Let's also not forget the important detail that the blonde had been gawking for about thirty seconds and hadn't said anything as his eyes disobeyed his brain by skimming all of the curves, lines, and edges that, when put together, created the figure of Mitch Grassi. God, he wouldn't be shocked if his jaw was wide open and drool was gathering in a puddle on the floor.

...that was kind of gross. Thankfully, it wasn't happening.

Mitch got a weird look to his face as he secretly wondered what the hell Scott was staring at. He broke the silence by proclaiming, "The shower's free. I need to be in there for a few more minutes to get dressed and brush my teeth, but after that the shower's free."

Finally, the blonde tore his gaze from the temptation in front of him and stood up. Clearing his throat, he said, "T-Thanks. I'll get in once you're out."

Five more minutes passed until Scott was standing beneath the showerhead and letting the scalding water massage his muscles. Though there was nothing left to do except to go to bed, he had the weird impression that tonight was going to be a long and interesting one.

Mentally shooing his thoughts, the singer occupied his mind not with ponderings of spirits or the call Mitch's body had on him, but whether or not he wanted his hair to smell like vanilla or fresh pine.

* * *

There had been a note waiting for Scott once he had exited the shower.

 _Babe-_

 _I'm at Kirstie's room (461, ten down from us) with her watching movies. If you want to join us, you can, but I'm guessing that after you read this you're gonna go right to bed. I'll be back when you wake up tomorrow morning. I may be just a bit hungover because Kirstie's willing to share her champagne with Mommy. Sweet dreams!_

 _-Queen Mitch_

After toweling off, the baritone seriously debated if he wanted to go watch the films with his friends, but as Mitch predicted, all he really wished to do was fall asleep. The bed looked comfortable. So, when his bright locks were finally dry, he slipped into pajama shorts (his favorite ones, too, they were really soft) and a tank top, climbing onto the right side of the bed.

With the covers pulled up to his chin and already feeling his consciousness slipping, Scott hesitantly reached over and clicked off the light. Pitch black became the color of the space.

His breathing was coming in more evenly now that his brain was accepting the fact he was exhausted as fuck. He had no time to frighten himself over evilness and death, as he fell into sleep a second later.

* * *

When on earth had the baritone turned into such a scaredy cat? Honestly, when had it happened, because whenever it had happened he'd missed it.

Of course, he seemed to bypass most important notions, so maybe Scott shouldn't be so shocked.

He had woken from his dreamless (but restless) sleep almost as quickly as he had entered it. There was a digital clock that had glowing red numbers claimed that it was, instead of _9:34,_ it was _12:18._ Great. The singer had barely managed to snatch three hours of slumber. Typical.

Scott's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, observing how the curtains that hung from the lone window billowed due to the air conditioning, or how the digital clock on the microwave was stuck at _10_ _:36._ How had he not noticed that before? His heart leapt at the sound of a faint whistling noise; merely the wind fluttering past the blinds.

Strange noises continued to whisper and scuttle without pause. Each one made the blonde jump a little and forced his mind to race around in circles trying to figure out what might have caused it. It was horrible, too, as once he'd figure it out logically another sound would scare him so strongly that Scott's wits scattered and spiraled and it would take him a few more minutes to gather them and set them straight to figure out the noise. And then the process repeated. It was mentally straining. He, now more than ever, craved company.

 _Mitchie's note!_ Scott remembered. Carefully he removed the warm covers from his body and reached for his phone to text Kirstie. Maybe she was still up and he could join them. No way in hell was he going to be able to fall asleep now.

Several unopened messages greeted him.

 _Mitch: there's room for u if u want to join us, Scotty. Maybe not champagne, but room ;)_

 _Kirstie: Scott, if ur awake, come watch movies with me and ur queen! Seriously tho we're watching Jaws and that's not that scary so u should be fine_

 _M: Ur missing the good shit a guy just got eaten_

 _M: Nvm three guys just got eaten_

 _M: this movie is so bad why does it promote killing sharks out of fear what will happen to all of the shark babies! I'm sad :'(_

 _K: Scott Mitch is drunk_

 _M: im drunk_

Scott giggled at the last two, which had been sent thirty minutes ago. He should've figured his best friends would both be at least tipsy by now. Thank god their show wasn't until 8:00 p.m. that day. Otherwise they would've been in major trouble.

The tall man left the light off, though it spooked him to, and made his way to the door. Scott opened it, peeked down the empty hall, and started to walk as his eyes skimmed the room numbers. Room 461, or 462, which had the note said? Ah, right, 461...

He paused outside of the door, listening. The blonde couldn't hear the sounds of the movie, so either they had finished their marathon and were just hanging out, or the walls were seriously soundproof. Possibilities flitted through his brain.

Automatically, Scott raised a hand to knock, before he realized that he knew the people taking up residence on the other side and let himself in.

Horrific noises were emitting from the television in the room, and even though it was turned down quite a lot, they still made the taller man wince. Two figures had curled up at the foot of the queen bed (equally as fancy as the one in the room he had left) with a few bottles of alcohol at their sides. Some were empty, others full, others had only a quarter of liquid still inside of them.

Kirstie was saying as she gestured with her hands, "-do that, because it looks difficult!"

"It can't be that complicated. I mean, if you're trained it's probably not too-" Mitch's high tone stopped when he noticed Scott standing in the doorway. His sharp face broke into a happy grin. "Babe!"

"Hi. I got bored. And I was alone." The blonde rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to the TV. "What're you watching?"

" _Jaws 2._ " The mezzo soprano snorted into her drink. After taking a delicate swig, she pointed at the screen. "Mitchell and I are trying to figure out the CGI." Kirstin tilted her head at him. "You gonna watch the rest of it with us?"

Scott was about to reply that he kind of did, kind of didn't (it was a horror movie. He was too much of a scaredy cat to handle that sort of thing right now), but weirdly Mitch spoke up first, giggling though his words. "No, he's not gonna stay, Kirst. He's had a loooooong day and he's gonna spend the night with me." The brunette gave a sloppy wink and picked himself up from the floor.

"Oh, yeah, I heard you guys have to share a bed."

"Yu- _p._ " Mitch glanced over his shoulder after putting his partially empty bottle down and walking to where his best friend stood, popping the _p._ "There's not enough pillows to make a wall between us, either."

Kirstie smiled and returned to the almost silent movie, not offering anything else. The countertenor faced Scott (the gears in his brain were clicking, shoving, and shuttering as he tried to figure out why his counterpart was acting like he was high), setting a slim hand on his chest (making the baritone's eyes widen in surprise). He stood on his toes so that his mouth was right next to Scott's ear, and whispered, "How about you and I go back to our room and start bed-sharing, hmm?"

This statement shocked the taller man so strongly that he nearly stumbled back. But no, the words were real, they had actually escaped Mitch's pink lips that were beginning to lift in a suggestive smirk. A sudden realization hit him. "You're drunk. For real. You weren't joking when you texted me."

"I wouldn't say _drunk._ " The tiny man mused, lifting his other hand so that both rested on Scott's chest. "I'd say I'm half drunk. Not _fully_ drunk. Just half."

Scott smiled and shook his head. "Knowing you when you're drunk, you'll want food. Let's head back so you don't go all diva on Kirstie."

Mitch threw a "Bye, girl!" behind him, fisted the front of his other half's tank top, and drug him into the hallway as the door shut. It was still dark, still empty, but no longer silent due to the fact that the brunette giggled quietly every five seconds. This made the blonde want to roll his eyes and sigh again. He, despite being the one whom was dragged, guided his best friend to their hotel door and paused in front of it to dig inside of his pajama pockets for the key card.

Hands reached for the edge of Scott's tank top, sliding up past the fabric to rub along his stomach. Their touch was warm and inviting. However, the tall man glanced up in surprise, ready to move away from the fingertips that had decided they wanted to lift up the rest of his top.

"Mitch, what are you doing?"

"I honestly have no idea." Came the answer that sounded almost serious. The tinier singer sidled up to his other half's side, standing on his toes to nuzzle his neck. Mitch's hands refused to pause in their motions, downright _refused_ , sliding up to caress the lower part of Scott's ribs. The feeling made said man shiver a little.

Finally the damned key card slid into its slot and the lock clicked open. Scott hurried inside to close it, followed by the countertenor whom he was steadily beginning to become confused by.

Immediately, Mitch shoved Scott against the door and pressed their bodies together. With a silky smile, he whispered, "Let's have some fun tonight, mmmkay?" He kissed his best friend (!?) to silence the protests that were yelling to be released. Despite the entire situation being beyond weird, beyond strange, and presumably impossible, the baritone found his eyes drifting closed and kissing back. Sparks shocked his system and turned part of his brain to mush.

Scott was almost afraid to reach out and touch Mitch; trace his lips with a finger, grip his hips, grab him underneath his legs and hold him up. "Mitch." He pulled away from their kissing that was starting to turn rough. Brown pupils gazed up at him, attentive but clouded. "Are you sure you want to be doing this with me? Are you sure that you're not just..." The blonde would retract himself in an instant if his counterpart realized that he didn't want him. After all, he was drunk. Or at least half so.

The response he got was that same set of hot sweet lips moving in sync with his. Now their hands were travelling without pause or permission (though they both knew that, if a piece of clothing was tugged or a bottom lip swiped with a tongue, the answer would be better then positive), eliciting pleased sounds for every correct bite or teasing prod.

"Bed. Right now." Mitch breathed, hooking his fingers around the waistband of a pair of pajama pants that weren't his. He led his eager, though slightly unfocused, partner to the edge of the large, soft bed before pushing his chest so that he fell on it. Scott's eyes almost rolled into his head when something firm and skilled touched him right _there._ He covered his mouth with one hand so the sounds he was making were quieted somewhat.

One particularly loud moan coaxed a satisfied smile to dance along the small brunette's features. "I'm good, aren't I, babe?"

Scott was so lost in the addictive feel-good burning that was seeping into his veins that he could barely give a hasty nod.

"I couldn't hear you."

"Yes! You're better than good... _ah!_ " He sucked in a breath that tasted of the cologne that Mitch wore. Mouthwatering. "Oh, that felt good-oh, fuck!"

The tinier singer moved on top of his other half, kissing and nibbling and biting as he went. When his mouth was so close to Scott's that he'd only have to move a millimeter for them to touch, he asked lowly, "Tell me something. Do you love me? I've wanted to know for _so_ long."

At that precise moment, the problem downstairs was being addressed, which pretty much guaranteed any words Mitch wanted to hear would spew from Scott's mouth, whether they were true or not. In this case, the words were indeed true. Although it was weird that his best friend had adapted such a demanding, dark tone, and had asked him this in the middle of a hand job, but this was dismissed. "Yes, I do! _Oh!_ "

"Really?" Mitch mused. Suddenly, his hand went away, and so did the weight on top of Scott. Puzzled (and still felling dizzy from the leftover giddy adrenaline charging throughout his excited body), he looked up.

The countertenor stood there, giggling a little as he peeled off his shirt. He noticed the baritone's stare and shook his head. "I was hoping that you would say no, but I guess I can't have everything, huh?"

Scott became slightly confounded. Propping himself on his elbows (and ignoring the problem now going unaddressed downstairs), he gave a small, curious smile and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on!" Mitch threw his shirt aside, now standing in only tiny short shorts that would've been highly distracting a few seconds ago, but the taunts that they offered flew over the tall man's head. His grin contained a little irritation, and a tinge of malice. "If we're going to have sex, you can't be in love with me beforehand. Otherwise you'd get way too attached to me and you'd want to date and stuff. Anyway, sex isn't about love, so who cares?"

"Um..." Okay, now Scott was seriously off-putted. Usually when you told somebody you loved that you loved them, they returned the favor. A frown began to work its way across his face. "So you're saying that you...don't love me?"

"Of course not." The brunette said the words in a voice that adults used when they told children they were too young to understand something. Laughter broke from his frame once he saw the blonde's crestfallen expression. "Wait, you actually thought that I did? Oh my god, you really thought I loved you! That's so funny!"

Scott's heart was breaking with every syllable that exited Mitch's upturned lips. He tried to prevent his voice from cracking and from letting a few tears escape his blue eyes. "W-Wait, you're serious? You're not-"

"Aww, are you going to cry about it? Poor baby." Mitch's face was cruel. Scott had never seen his features fixated in such a way. "Get over yourself, Scott. Like I would ever love you." He laughed again, high and mean, before starting to crawl back onto his newfound lover, except he preferred to spell that word without the 'love' portion.

The taller man pushed him off, getting off the bed in a single fluid move. "I don't know what's going-"

"What, you don't want to have sex with me anymore?" A high-pitched voice asked mock-innocently. He batted his eyelashes.

"I-I..." Obviously he wanted to say yes. But Mitch was acting supremely unlike himself and just plain weird and it was freaking Scott out. He slowly walked backwards towards the door, watching as his best friend (!?) got up and followed him with a twisted smile.

"You looked like you wanted it a few minutes ago, before you started babbling about this loving me shit." Mitch's steps were silent, creeping, but sure. Where the hell was the door handle? How many more steps back was the damn door? "We're supposed to have sex in the dark in secret. That's all you're good for. Sex."

"I think I should go." Scott said, feeling the cool metal of the door handle when he reached behind him.

"Run all you want." Mitch's voice warped, becoming doubled, and then tripled. His smile grew ever more twisted, and this time his laugh was closer to a gleeful screech. "Run all you want, but you'll never find what you seek; the companionship of the one you care for most." He screeched again, so loudly that Scott winced. He twisted the door handle. "I'll never love you, Scott Hoying, ugly selfish wretch! He'll never love you! He'll leave you alone to cower from the demons you fear so much! Never, _never,_ NEVER!"

 _The fucking hallway, I need to get into the fucking hallway!_ The baritone screamed inside of his head. With a finally twist, the door flew open, and as he blocked the sound of crazy cackling he turned his tail and bolted into the hall, slamming the door forcefully.

The hotel hall was still dark and empty, just as it had been several minutes ago. Scott listened to his own terrified breathing as his gaze swept the long space. He realized that there were no doors. No doors at all. He spun in a circle only to find out that even the door to the room that he had just fled from had disappeared.

Something whispered off to his right. Scott's head whipped in that direction. Heart pounding, he heard another whistle all the way down the doorless hall. He found the wall ice cold when he cringed into it, sliding down down down until he could pull his knees to his chest. Tears of fear that he didn't hold back left paths on his cheeks.

This was by far the scariest thing he had ever experienced in his entire life.

Scott's breath paused at the sound of footsteps. They were close. Getting closer. Closer, now. He looked up from his knees in horror, searching the dark place with blurry eyes, procuring nothing. He wanted Avi, Kirstie, Mitch, Kevin, Esther, _anybody,_ he wanted anybody.

A figure, hooded and tall, appeared in front of him. Scott froze completely.

They were both still.

It took a step forward, towards his balled up position. Scott didn't move. It took another step. Bending at what would've been its knees, the figure lifted its pale hand and pulled its hood from its face.

The face that grinned at him was his own, with blood dripping from eyes that weren't there, a complexion so pale and stale you could see through it to black veins, and a mouth that foamed scarlet foam. His mirror image opened his maw to let out a demonic shriek.

Scott screamed with every cell in his being.

His possessed mirror image gave one last shriek, grabbed the blonde's throat, and squeezed so hard that it only took three seconds for him to pass out.

* * *

"Scott, please wake up! Please wake up!"

Scott's eyes snapped open as he gasped. He clawed at the air, still believing that he was choking himself, but his hands were met with empty air. The room he was in was lit with comforting light, and he drank it in, so relieved that he could start crying.

Actually, he did start crying. Sobbing. Very forcefully.

He asked for the first person that popped into his head. "Mitch?"

"I'm here. I'm right here." Mitch was there, wrapping his arms around his best friend as he trembled. The brunette gently ran his hand through his golden hair, listening as the crying quieted but still continued. Scott buried his face in the thin shoulder helping to hold him up. "Everything is okay. You're okay. You're okay."

"Mitch." Scott sobbed, pulling away so that the pair was face-to-face. "What happened? Where are we?"

"We're in the hotel room, Scotland. The really super nice one with only one bed that we have to share." Mitch explained softly, wiping at his counterpart's tears and feeling some of his own prick behind his eyes. When your best friend cried, you cried. That was just it. "I left you a note because I thought that you would go to sleep instead of watching a movie with me and Kirstie. But Avi and Kevin and Esther were there too, and there was no champagne, just sparkling water. So we watched _Up_ until I got tired. I came back to the room and you were doing stuff in your sleep."

"Doing what stuff?" The blonde sniffed, confused for what felt like the twentieth time that night.

Surprisingly, Mitch's cheeks tinted pink. "Um...you were...uh." He coughed. "You were saying my name."

Scott remained puzzled. It struck him what he had been dreaming about before the dream had turned into a nightmare. Embarrassed, he blushed, the sensation making his tear tracks feel like they were on fire. Just a little bit. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault." The countertenor cleared his throat and continued. "But then you started mumbling about demons in the dark and love and empty hallways. And then you yelled really loud and I woke you up."

At the part about love, Scott teared up once more. "Mitch, I love you."

There was no hesitation in the answer. "I love you too. Are you feeling alright? You want to talk about it?" Mitch gently touched his other half's arm, worried. Maybe he shouldn't take Scott to any more scary movies.

"I'm alright now. I'll tell you about it." He smiled wearily. Tugging the smaller singer into his lap (and leaving the light on), he cuddled him close and began his story. Leaving out all of the most frightening parts, of course. Scott wouldn't tell his best friend anything that would give him nightmares as well.

Like the fact that Scott was in love with him, for say.


	28. A Matter Of Trust

**Hello, my readers! Have I ever told y'all how much I seriously appreciate you? Because I really really do. You guys are so sweet to me and I love it.**

 **But onto the oneshot; t** **his was inspired by the most recent Superfruit video to date, 1-800-KISS-MITCH, where the Queen himself explains that after moving into their new place, he thought for a while that he had lost Scott's Grammy, so this chapter depicts those moments. I know that they aren't actually dating (even though they are, but they aren't, but they are, and people would die if they really did), but in this oneshot they are.**

 **The summary: You can trust your best friends. With anything. Even your Grammy, an award given out to a few select people worthy enough to earn it. Except that Mitch Grassi, best friend and boyfriend of Scott Hoying, has somehow managed to lose the precious thing. Meaning that he's freaking out. Meaning that he's pretty damn close to having a panic attack.**

 **One more thing before your eyes start skipping down the page (and its kind of sad); this oneshot will be the third-to-last for now. I always pictured writing about 30, and that number is coming up, so this will be one of the final oneshots. BUT PLEASE DON'T CRY! More Scomiche will be happening soon (I have so many ideas up my sleeves for me to stop now)!**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!**

* * *

He had lost it.

He had lost it.

 _He had lost it._

 _He had motherfucking lost it._

How could he possibly lose the damned thing? It was shiny, gold, precious, valuable; things like that don't just slip from your fingertips. No, things like that aren't easy to lose, because things like that always have a trained set of eyes on them. Watching. Always.

When the word _lost_ is used in the context of an object, you're supposed to say it with an uncaring or caring air depending on what that object is, like, _Oh, gosh darn, I lost my pen!_ or, _I lost the ceramic pot you made for me seven years ago. Sorry, darling._ Stuff that could be easily fixed or found or whatever.

And this wasn't just some old pot, or used pen. It was shiny and gold and precious and valuable and wasn't very easy to lose because he should've had his eyes on it, always, so that it was impossible to lose. It _had_ been impossible to lose.

But Mitch had lost it anyway.

He

had

lost

it.

If he didn't find it, he would never forgive himself. But even worse, his boyfriend wouldn't forgive him. Never ever in a million years, because guess what, _guess what_ , _guess what_ the worst shitting best friend-turned-boyfriend on the entire _fucking_ planet had done?

He had lost one of the most important things there ever was to lose.

Mitch had lost Scott's Grammy.

 _Fuck!_

The brunette was staring at the boxes piled high in his new bedroom, chewing his bottom lip off, before bringing his hand to his mouth and biting his perfect nails, not even caring that he had already broken the habit years ago. It resurfaced now, when he most needed it; something to allow his nervousness to flow into. It was that, or run around his bedroom in circles screaming like a crazy person and tearing his hair out.

Mitch had picked option number one, because he really, really liked his hair.

His breathing was coming in too quickly, so quickly that he thought he might hyperventilate. He _was_ hyperventilating. Now he realized why people did it when they got scared, it forced your mind to be all fuzzy and feel as light as a feather, drifting away from the current problem at hand.

This was not happening. This was _not_ happening.

But it _was_ and _guess what guess what guess what-_

He had lost it.

 _Fuck!_

Mitch abruptly yanked himself from his inner hysteria and pulled his fingers away from his mouth so he would stop gnawing on them. Then he focused on taking deep, full, calming breaths, knowing that if he wanted to feel crazy and lightheaded and like nothing else was there all he had to do was kiss Scott and everything else would melt.

If Scott would even kiss him anymore when he found out.

If Scott would even touch him anymore when he found out.

If Scott would even _look at him_ anymore when he found out.

Oh my god, what if Scott left him?

Tears stung the backs of dark brown eyes, his deep calming breaths shuddering on the exhale. Mitch couldn't think like that, because lost Grammy or not, kissing Scott or not, he would go insane if he had that mindset.

 _Lost Grammy._

...which brought him back to the problem at hand.

The two singers had recently moved out of their apartment and bought a slightly larger, more airy condo. The entire thing was all polished glass and smooth white walls that reminded the countertenor of porcelain. It was honestly very pretty...and very empty. So they were soon to remove their furniture and possessions from their old place and into their new one, meaning they had brought in the couch, the TV, the bookcase, their beds (though it was kind of foolish, since they usually shared Scott's bed most nights...but there was something about having his own room that made Mitch feel a small bit better about leaving his apartment), the coffee table (and the infamous book that always sat atop its see-through frame), and pretty much everything they owned. However, when the topic of everything they owned came around, the thing that the smaller of the two owned the most of was clothes.

Lots and lots of clothes. Where there were lots of clothes, there were lots of boxes.

Mitch had unboxed not only all of his weird trinkets, but dozens upon dozens of articles of clothing for the past hour or so, awaiting his boyfriend's return. Scott had gone out with Kirstie to go shopping, and though the brunette loved shopping as much as he loved coffee, he'd waved away the invitation to accompany them, knowing that dealing with his clothes would take a long while.

It was in the middle of unboxing and folding and putting stuff away and hanging things up that he'd opened the medium cardboard cube that contained his personal Grammy. Every member of Pentatonix had received one (after all, they were a team), and the couple had placed theirs next to each other on their headboard at their old residence.

He'd been happy to see the award he had gotten, giving it a smile before closing the box and setting it aside. That got him thinking, if his Grammy had ended up in his room, maybe Scott's was in there too. So he'd rummaged around, opening box after box after box, but it never showed up. He hadn't looked in any more boxes in his own room (there were only three left. It wasn't really worth it, as he knew they just contained clothing) and instead walked right across the hall to his lover's room and peeked inside.

The room was more bare than his own, obviously. His intent gaze had searched the room and found no glint of gold.

So, because he knew that Scott wouldn't get around to opening his boxes for a while, Mitch opened them for him. It wasn't creepy or anything; the brunette already knew everything about every single possession that his eyes skimmed over, and anyway, he wasn't seeking more knowledge. Hell, he'd been in charge of packing most of the boxes, so he would know what was inside them.

He opened a few boxes.

And then Mitch started to get a little worried. So he opened a few more boxes.

Nothing but nothing.

This is the part where the small man's breath had hitched in panic.

This is also the part where he opened _all_ of the boxes. All of them. No shiny gold award blazed in front of his eyes. He picked himself up from his position on the floor, in the midst of all of the boxes, and sprinted right back across the hall to his room (nearly sliding over the slippery wood in his haste). The movement of grasping the hard edge of cardboard and sticking scissors through tape had become so automatic that he opened the final three boxes in his room.

They were just as he expected. Full of clothes.

Mitch didn't bother to take them out. He straightened, stared, and then the entire biting-his-nails-and-his-brain-going-into-overload happened. What was he going to do?

Now, a person might think that the countertenor was being ridiculous. Yes, it was a Grammy, and that was very important, but how would losing it be his fault? Well, for starters, _he_ had been the one to oversee and pack nearly everything, helped by Kevin and Avi; Scott couldn't help since he was signing papers and deeds and accepting the keys to the new place.

His second reason he knew that it was his fault was because _he_ had grabbed the two Grammys, putting his and Scott's in separate containers, as Avi had tripped over the table and required assistance getting up. Scott had come by later to make sure nothing had been missed, and then they had taped it all up and shoved it in a moving truck.

But the third reason was what made Mitch feel the most guilty; the fact that this wasn't the first time he had lost something important to Scott. When they were teens, he had borrowed the blonde's mathematics notes (he was so damn smart), promising to return them before the week went out so the taller boy could study as well. He lost those, so Scott had to do the entire thing by memory (not only did he get a better grade than Mitch anyway, but it was a really good grade as well). He'd taken countless pairs of earrings that belonged to his friend (with his permission, of course) and forgotten that they weren't his, he'd had them for so long, and by the time he remembered to give them back they'd disappeared. Not to mention the time he lost Wyatt for a short while, allowing the kitty to run out the front door by accident, and not quick enough to catch him. He'd given his best friend a heart attack.

And still, Scott trusted him. With his feelings, with his heart, with his thoughts.

With his Grammy.

And he really shouldn't have, really really shouldn't have, he should have known that Mitch would do what Mitch always did. He lost things, and therefore he lost it.

He had lost it.

 _Fuck!_

Mitch almost sobbed. Seriously. He almost broke down and sobbed, right there on the floor of his new bedroom. Scott wouldn't ever trust him again. How could you trust your boyfriend, your best friend, when all they did was cause you pain by losing the things that meant something to you? How? How could you do it?

You couldn't. Meaning that Scott wouldn't.

Meaning that when the baritone found out, not only would he not trust Mitch, but he might also reconsider his feelings for the tiny man as well.

* * *

They had been hesitant to start a relationship together. It seemed risky; two members of the same band dating? That was asking for trouble if it didn't work out. But they were Scott and Mitch and fuck it all, they loved each other, and they did what a person would do if they found the person they loved cared for them back.

They dated.

Light dating, if you could call it that. They were _still_ dating lightly. You know, when all you do is go on simple dates and have fun, don't get too serious with kissing, and generally have an amazing time. It was difficult for them to do this, as they were very touchy-feely and dating basically permitted they do that, touch and feel, but each man was mindful not to take things too far. They might be boyfriends, and they may only be dating lightly, but before anything they were best friends.

The pair were stuck together even more solidly than ever. Them dating made them stronger. Mitch and Scott were always cautious for their friend's sakes, but everyone could tell that the two were getting tired of holding back. They wanted to date seriously, wanted to take gentle kissing further, wanted to have adventures without somebody breathing down their neck and laying out bets on when they would fall apart.

And they did, in secret, away from everyone's prying eyes.

Although, neither man mentioned that the reason they pulled their mouths away just when their make out session was getting good wasn't because they were wary somebody would scold them for it.

Sometimes it was because they were nervous. Sometimes it was because they were scared, too.

Everybody else so nervous and scared about them breaking up and made both of them nervous and scared about breaking up. So they were careful. They were being careful.

Too careful.

Sometimes Mitch wished that Scott wouldn't be so careful. Sometimes he wanted to keep feeling like he was drowning, like he was drunk, like the warmth of the blonde's skin was everything in the world. Sometimes he wanted that.

Fuck that. He wanted that _all_ the time, not just _sometimes_. Screw sometimes.

Was that such a bad thing, to want to love somebody they way you and they both wanted?

Oh, wait a minute! Don't you need to trust somebody in order to love them, especially the way you want to? And, if you lose the trust, that must mean that they lose the feeling of love they felt in their hearts for you. Right. Duh. And losing trust and therefore losing love wasn't ever a danger in the relationship of Scomiche, because Scott could trust Mitch with _anything_.

OH WAIT. HE COULDN'T. BECAUSE _GUESS WHAT!?_

He had lost it.

 _Fuck!_

Mitch was so damn frightened. Not of Scott, but of what Scott would _feel_ ; anger, hurt, disbelief, sadness, disappointment, confusion, but most of all distrust.

And you can't love someone you don't trust.

They had only been dating for a month, and already the brunette had messed it up. He messed everything up. He just had really terrible luck when it came to losing things, and now he was paying the price for having that flaw. What was his best friend going to say? Mitch's stomach twisted as he thought of the face Scott would make once he knew. It would feel like someone had poured acid down his throat. It would hurt. Badly.

"Hey, Eleanor, you want some-"

The countertenor screamed a high-pitched scream so forcefully that his entire body shook after he was done. His heart jolted with fright. Turning around quickly, he saw Scott standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Chinese takeout, his face drained so pale from shock that his gorgeous blue eyes were like sapphires against his skin.

"Oh my god, Scotland." Mitch breathed more heavily than he had been when he hyperventilated. "Y-Y-You s-scared me."

The baritone laughed weakly, a tentative smile working its way across his features. "Are you kidding? _You_ scared _me_." His expression abruptly changed when he realized that his boyfriend was trembling and looked ready to collapse onto his knees. He set the food onto the nearby dresser, picking his way over the opened boxes and gathering Mitch into his arms in a tight hug.

"I-I-I..." Was what shuddered from his tiny frame. Scott kissed him lightly on the forehead. Mitch shook his head, looking up at his stupidly caring boyfriend who always put everyone before himself. Stupid idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "S-Sorry, Scott. I didn't hear you unlock the front door."

"I almost didn't either. The hinges don't squeak and that's really weird."

This earned him a chuckle and a kiss on the nose. "Yeah, I know." He suddenly noticed how much cooler the blonde's face was compared to his chest, which was comfy and warm. "You went out and got food? Thanks, babe."

"Not just food." Scott smiled widely, excited for unknown reasons. "I got you something."

"You did?" Mitch tried to sound happy, but he couldn't while his heart felt like it had dropped to the pit of his stomach. Here he was, losing one of the most important possessions that his boyfriend had, and said boyfriend was getting him gifts. His guilty thoughts swirled. "You...you really didn't have to get me anything..."

"I know, but I was out with Kirstie anyway, so I did." The blonde winked at him, rummaging through the bag he had brought that didn't smell of chow mein. He was victorious after a moment of digging, and returned to the smaller man. He gently placed his gift in Mitch's hand. It felt cold, metal, and circular.

He had a brief moment of true, utter panic that this was a proposal, but it vanished quickly. Scott wouldn't do it like this...wait. Would he?

Mitch looked down at the object. It was a tiny skull ring, almost an exact match to the tattoo on his finger that he shared with the baritone. The surface was smooth, the glass surprisingly warm, and the metal circle cold but comforting. He loved it.

Sick nausea pooled inside of the brunette. He worked up the brightest smile he could to give to his best friend, who was standing in anxious silence and waiting for approval. Mitch nearly cried. _Scott_ was waiting for _his_ approval? Oh no, oh no, this wasn't right, it wasn't _right._ Mitch should be being punished, not rewarded.

Why was his boyfriend so nice to him?

Maybe he should start dating jackasses who treated him like shit. That pain wouldn't ever feel as bad as the grin on Scott's handsome face.

Not to say that Mitch was planning on breaking up with the perfection standing in front of him anytime soon, but once the perfection knew that it's partner was absolute trash, it would leave. It would. Guaranteed.

"It's really cute. I love it." He stood on his toes to press their lips together, loving Scott and the gift and the feeling of their lips that made him forget about everything else for a moment. Just a moment. Just a moment he needed to forget how badly he failed.

Mitch swiped his tongue along Scott's bottom lip, trying not to shiver at the taste of the taller man. The response was immediate and positive; strong arms wound around his tiny waist, pulling him closer, and the baritone kissed him harder. The small man cupped his partner's face with one hand, and using the other to trail down his warm chest and rest his fingers against the waistband of a pair of jeans that weren't his.

"Mmm..." Scott hummed against his mouth, pressing as much of their bodies together as he could while they were standing. They disconnected their mouths, both breathing in oxygen like they hadn't ever done so. The blonde's eyes had gotten a little darker. That only lead to Mitch biting back a soft moan and pulling their faces together.

The brunette was quickly forgetting everything around him. If somebody had asked him what his name was, he would legitimately have no clue. He detached his mouth from his boyfriend's once more, speaking softly. "Thank you. For the gift and the food."

A slow smile was the answer he received. "I could give you something else, if you wanted." He bent his head until his mouth trailed along Mitch's neck. Soon he found the spot he was looking for, hesitated for only a second, and kissed the area lightly.

Mitch's hands were finding their way into golden locks, tugging them slightly. "What do you-oh, _fuck_..." Scott had bit down on the area and started sucking the skin there. That was going to leave a lasting mark. And the brunette honestly didn't give a shit. "Scott..."

"We could break in your bed." His already semi-deep voice had dropped an octave, making the tinier man shiver. He continued to plant kisses along his boyfriend's neck, nipping the soft olive skin here and there. Mitch reached down between them and placed his hand on the front of his partner's jeans. Scott whined at the contact.

And then it all rushed back to Mitch in one acute moment of awareness. His mind had probably permitted itself to function properly so that he could give his usual queenly reply, and it had let him remember. The blue-eyed man wanted to... _do things_ with him. Because you do things like that with people you love and trust.

You trust people with your belongings. You trust them not to lose whatever you put in their care.

Oh no.

Because guess what?

He had lost it.

 _Fuck!_

Mitch suddenly pulled away, removing his hand and his lips, and taking a few steps so that his mind could clear properly. Scott looked flustered and confused as to why his best friend had moved so quickly. His mouth looked slightly bruised and a pink blush had risen to his cheeks. He was beautiful.

But Mitch couldn't have him. The guilt now gushing in his veins told him so. It was wrong, it was wrong wrong wrong to hook up with somebody after doing what he had done, no matter how attractive they were. They couldn't. If they did, and then the tall man found out...he'd regret it.

Maybe he should start seeing somebody about his paranoia.

...hmm. That idea wasn't half bad.

"Mitch?" Scott asked, his voice confused. "Did I do something wrong?" He walked to his counterpart slowly and carefully. The countertenor let him, and tried not to vomit at just how disgusted he was with himself. Yeah, lose the most important thing your boyfriend ever owned and then fuck him after. That sounded _amazing._

"N-No, you didn't do anything."

"Yes I did." The blonde said, appearing distraught. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dirty talked you. Or...or kissed you so hard. I'm rushing things way too fast and we should be taking it slow." He gave a small smile. It was so comforting when he smiled like that. "Right?"

"Right." Mitch answered. He breathed in shakily. "B-B-But it's okay t-that you did all that s-s-s-stuff. I liked it." He hadn't just liked it, he'd _craved_ it.

"Then why are you so upset, honey?" Scott's tone was gentle and loving and kind and then something inside of Mitch went

 _NOPE._

He felt his face crumple, and so swiftly he could barely tell it had happened a sob had wracked its way through his small body, his arms had wrapped around his ribs like he could protect himself from the onslaught of doubt and shame fueling his tears, and the image of Scott's worried blue eyes blurring as wetness leaked down his cheeks. Mitch sniffled, not trying to hold them back, and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

"Oh, Mitch, what's wrong?" Scott asked, and he was so soft and so sweet but he was too damn _good_ for Mitch, because he _never ever in forever_ would've lost something so precious. He tried to hug his companion, but the brunette turned away from his inviting arms, the refusal so difficult that it took an equal amount of effort to win chess against the world champion of the game.

Mitch couldn't hold it in. The guilt was too overbearing. He tilted his head back to Scott, who looked so damn confused and sad and hurt and let loose the words that would make everything worse.

"I lost it."

The blonde didn't respond, only deepening his expression of puzzlement. "You lost what, honey?"

"I l-l-lost it, Scott." He hiccupped. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to lose it!" He was nearly overcome with the urge to explain himself, to fess up, as honestly as possible. "I swear I watched it hit the bottom of the box I put it in, I swear, and then it was taped up and I saw mine so I tried to find yours but I couldn't, even though I _saw_ it, I saw it before we left, I picked it up! And I looked for it while you were gone with Kirstie but I just-" He hiccupped again, staring at his best friend with eyes that pleaded for forgiveness. "I lost it." Mitch shook his head at himself before muttering quietly, " _Fuck!_ "

"What did you lose?" The taller man asked carefully, still not completely understanding, but knowing that Mitch was hurt and that the hurt needed to go away as fast as it possibly could.

"Y-Y-Your..." The small man didn't want to say it. No no no no no no no no no- "I lost your..." His watery eyes lifted so that he was looking directly into Scott's. Memories of all of the times that he had lost things bombarded his brain. "Please say you won't get mad. Please."

That was all the baritone needed. The words exited him so fast it was like he hadn't thought about them before they were gone. "I won't get mad."

" _Promise_."

"I promise I won't get mad."

Mitch shook his head. Despite the comforting words, and the promise, he was still reluctant to speak. But he had to do this. Guilt and shame would hang over his head until he did. He was going to do this.

Right now.

"Your Grammy. I lost your Grammy."

Scott's face froze for a second. Blue eyes paled so far that his eyes went from dark, worried sapphires to a clear, blank skies. His expression remained unreadable for so long that his best friend hiccupped and started crying again.

"You said you wouldn't get mad." His high-pitched voice whispered. Mitch's shoulders shook. "Y-Y-You said so!"

The blonde blinked once, twice, and then he finally unfroze. He spoke in that same soft reassuring tone. "I'm not mad, Mitchie."

"Yes you are." Was the crackly response. "You're mad because I'm the worst best friend ever and the worst boyfriend ever because I lost the most important thing that you own! And now you're going to break up with me-"

"Mitch." Scott's tone turned serious, immediately cutting off the incoming string of babble. He was solemn. He took a few steps forward, towards Mitch, who allowed him to wrap his arms around his small waist. "Stop. I'm not going to break up with you."

"Y-You're not?"

"No." He kissed his boyfriend. God, but the brunette would never get over how warm his mouth was, or how he tasted like the outside and newness and the slightest tinge of cinnamon. "You mean more to me than the award."

"How can you say that? That Grammy was everything you ever worked for."

"It was everything _we_ ever worked for. Not just me." Scott trailed his thumb underneath Mitch's eyes and across his cheeks, wiping away the last of the tears. He smiled gently at the tiny man encircled in his arms. "Us. The band. I'm sad about it, yes, and it'll take me a little while to get over, but I'm not going to break up with you because of it. You're more than sorry and I accept that."

The countertenor couldn't believe his ears. Or how much his best friend loved him. "I really didn't mean to lose it. I'll give you mine." It hurt his heart a little to realize that he really _was_ actually going to give up his own reward, but he knew that it would hurt his heart even more to know that Scott wasn't happy. After all, this whole incident was his own fault, and therefore he would be the one to pay the price.

"You don't have to do that-"

"Then let's make a compromise." Mitch lifted his hands up to twist his fingers through bright blonde hair. "We share my Grammy. It's more yours than it is mine, anyway. And then we sit on our new couch and we watch SpongeBob and then...and then we break in my bed when I give you apology sex."

Scott swallowed at the part described last. His fingers trailed up and down his partner's spine, drawing forth shiver after shiver. "I don't like the beginning part...but I don't think I mind the end too much."

"Good." The singer whispered, standing on his toes and gazing into blue eyes and just about to bring their faces together-

The doorbell rang.

Mitch finished his action anyway, kissing his boyfriend and cradling his face in his hands. They reluctantly broke away, and Scott almost didn't let him leave to answer it (this changed after the brunette sent him a look that was a reminder of what they were going to do tonight), yet Mitch grabbed his hand and dragged him down the hall to accompany him. The doorbell rang again, and a shout of "We're almost there, stop ringing!" silenced it.

Kevin was the one standing in the doorway of their new condo, his eyes smiling and his arms carrying a medium-sized cardboard box. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, Kevin." The baritone greeted. He didn't let go of Mitch's hand, and the countertenor felt a thrill run through him at that. "What's up?"

"Avi and I were returning the truck today, y'know, because you two accidentally rented it for too long-" The pair shared a look, each thinking that it was the other person's fault. "And when we were looking in the back to make sure we got everything, this was there. Here you go." He handed the box to Mitch, who accepted it without a second thought.

"Don't you have to go to that cello thing tonight?"

"Yeah, but when I looked inside of the box, I called ahead and told them I would be late." The beat boxer nodded at his two band mates. "Speaking of, I need to get going. Bye!" With a wave, he pivoted on his heel and pretty much bolted in the direction of his car. He was most likely already five minutes behind, and to Kevin that was unacceptable.

Scott and Mitch just stood in their doorway. Both were a little shocked at the abrupt coming-and-going that their friend had displayed, and in unison said, "Bye, Curvy." To the empty space in front of them.

After the door had been shut, the best friends looked at each other warily, wondering what was so important that Kevin was willing to be late to anything related to the cello. Mitch carefully opened it, curiosity winning over patience.

Inside of the box, untouched, unscathed, and undamaged, was Scott Hoying's Grammy; just as shiny, gold, precious, and valuable as it had been the last time Mitch Grassi had accidentally put it there.


	29. Mitch's Birthday

**Hello, my readers! This week I've decided to go with something predictable; in the spirit of celebration, since today is July 24th, I wrote a quick oneshot about Mitch's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, QUEEN! You always slay no matter what, and your unshakable confidence paired with your beautiful voice is what makes all of us grin whenever we catch sight of you. Never let anybody tell you that you don't mean anything, because each and every Pentaholic says differently. I heart you, hunty! :)**

 **Alright, now the summary: Today is the day Mitch Grassi reaches 24 years of age. The day is supposed to go smoothly, as in, his best friend Scott Hoying can surprise him with an amazing gift after presenting a home-made cake. Great plan, right? It would've been great, at least until the cake decides to explode.**

 **This is my second-last-oneshot and I am CRYING. But it's short and sweet and I can't complain about it. The ending is a little abrupt, but later on I may rewrite this for the sole sake of correcting that error. But all in all, I'm happy with it and I hope y'all are as well!**

 **Thank you for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Happy reading!**

* * *

Kirstie bumped her hip against Scott's as the pair danced around the kitchen. A bowl of cake batter that had yet to be properly mixed was clutched in one of her hands, a wooden spoon being twirled in her other. The tall blonde was head-banging to the bubbly pop song that blared through the speakers set up on the table.

"Werk, girl!" Scott exclaimed with a laugh in his voice as he watched the mezzo shimmy her booty. She mixed while she danced, careful to make sure nothing spilled. Mastering the art of multitasking had taken some time, but it was all worth it when said skills needed to be put to the test...like when you were baking and dancing at the same time, for instance.

"My hips don't lie!" Her voice sang as she shimmied again.

"Just like Avi's." The baritone teased, causing his friend to giggle. "I think yours are more truthful, though."

"You bet they are. Especially when I'm baking!" With that, she used the edge of her hip to nudge a drawer closed. Continuing to mix, she said, "We're supposed to put this in the oven for how long?"

Scott leaned over to snatch the instructions off of the counter. "Says here it should go in for...ninety minutes."

"Oh, good." Kirstin rapped the spoon against the bowl and set the utensil inside the sink. Bubbles flew up, and her band mate poked a few, then blew a few in her face. "Ack! _Ruuuuuude._ " She received a playful wink. "If tonight wasn't so important, I would throw this batter at you and not be sorry. But tonight is. We're lucky that we started the cake now or else Mitch would be back."

Scott waved a dismissive hand, but his next words were said fondly. "Mitchie won't be home for like three hours. He'll splurge on clothes with Avi today."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot they were doing that." The singer commented in her high unworried voice. "I hope Avi gets dressed up like a doll. That would be really funny."

"It would." The blonde agreed. He perched on top of the table (as always unable to swing his legs back-and-forth, a disadvantage to being so damned tall) and quirked an invisible eyebrow at the mezzo soprano. "When are you going to get dressed for the party?"

"Once this cake is about half done." Kirstie poured the red velvet mix into a pan and popped it in the preheated oven. "Just enough time to make sure the kitchen doesn't burn down, and enough time for me to drive home and do my hair." She gestured to her messy ponytail as she closed the oven door. Strands of her bright locks frizzed outside of the hair tie she'd used to put it up, curling rebelliously at their ends. "I never asked, by the way, what did you get him?"

Scott grinned. "It's a surprise. You'll find out when he does."

Today, ladies and gentlemen, kings and queens, boyfriends and best friends from all across the land, was Mitchell Grassi's twenty-fourth birthday. A very important day, not only if you were the young Grassi himself, but also if you were his other half, Scott Hoying. And said other half was going to make sure that everything went perfectly for his best friend. Fortunately, nothing horrible had happened that day yet, which was good; Avi had allowed Mitch to drag him to the mall to go shopping (something that they had been wanting to do for a while now), Kirstie had come over to help Scott bake a cake, and the nighttime party was going to take place in just a few short hours. Before the party, the baritone had to pick up the present he was giving his best friend; a custom-made microphone that had all of the signatures of the tiny brunette's family members and of the Pentatonix members. And for ironic purposes, the blonde had obtained a little cactus plant that was wearing a jacket that was made by Mitch's favorite brand. It was hidden in the depths of Scott's closet, a place he knew his friend would never look.

Yes, the rest of the evening would go nicely. Very nicely.

Well, it would've, if the cake hadn't decided to explode after fifteen minutes in the oven.

The two friends had engaged in a miniature dance-off (Scott currently winning), giggling loudly as each move became more and more ridiculous, so they didn't hear a light hissing sound coming from the oven. They continued to mess around, and it was Kirstie's foot in her friends hands that dropped when they both heard a small _BOOM!_

Sending each other curious looks, they paused the music and traipsed into the kitchen.

"Ohmygod!" Scott gasped once he caught sight of the oven. "What the hell happened?"

"Why is the glass..." Kirstin was equally horrified at their discovery. Because the way the style of the oven was, there was a glass see-through window so you could periodically check on what was in their. Except that said see-through glass wasn't so see-through anymore. It was covered in dark red. The color of the cake.

The mezzo rushed to pull on oven mittens and carefully opened the door to the oven. It looked absolutely disastrous on the inside; the cake had literally imploded and coated every surface there was to coat with sweet uncooked batter. Some dripped and landed on the floor. And, oh, the _smell;_ like somebody had taken sugar and burnt it. It was a mess. It was a fucking _mess._

But worse than that, it was _Mitch's cake_ that had made a fucking mess.

"Please tell me that you were unbelievably awesome and bought extra cake batter." The baritone deadpanned.

He watched as his friend's shoulders sagged. "I...no, I didn't think to...I should've...why did it-"

As if the universe was out to get the pair that day, there came the sudden turning of keys in the apartment door. Scott shot Kirstie an expression of pure panic. How could Mitch have possibly finished with Avi so early? That boy was a shopaholic if there ever was one. No way he had already bought all the clothes he wanted. No way.

"If that's Mitch..." Kirstin whispered. Her ponytail bounced as she shook her head frantically. "He's too early! He's back way too damn early! I need to clean this up and go...I don't know, but I need time to clean this up." Her features crumpled a little. "Shit...I wanted to bake him a surprise cake, Scott."

"I know, Kirst. I know." The blonde glanced at the turning door handle. "Ok, I'll distract him. How much time do you need?"

"I-I-I don't know, this could take an hour to clean, at the very least-"

"Ok, ok, I'll take care of Mitchie for an hour or so. Buy you time."

Despite the abrupt awfulness of the situation, Kirstie couldn't help the smart smile that spread across her face slowly. "I'm sure you're going to love distracting him for me, Scotty boy."

"Literally, shut up." Was the answer she received. The taller of the two spun around on his heel and practically sprinted to the front door. He reached it just as the handle started to wriggle and spin open. Scott rushed to place his body in such a way that you couldn't see anything except him from the doorway. His blue eyes flicked downward to meet the gaze of his best friend.

Mitch Grassi stared back at him with dark topaz eyes, his smile slightly confused but mostly happy. In his left hand he clutched his keys, and dangling off of his arms were numerous shopping bags, all packed to their bursting point. Though it was his birthday (and birthday's signaled a person getting older), he didn't appear any worse for wear than he had the day before. Purple shadows lurked underneath his eyes, but no wrinkles or heavy bags hung from his young face. Nothing to give away how old he truly was. Hell, he could've been anywhere from eighteen to thirty.

...if that was said aloud, would that be a compliment?

Probably not.

Better safe than sorry, people.

"Hi." The brunette flicked a piece of his fringe from his eyes. His grin grew larger as he continued to look at his other half. "You look flustered."

"I was just...um. I was-" Scott's mind ran around in circles while he tried to think up an excuse. Wow, did he really appear so panicked? He would have to work on that. "I...uh..."

Mitch's eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement. He sniffed the air delicately, the action causing his septum piercing to whistle slightly. "Why does it smell like something burning?" The small man stood on his tippy toes to try and peek around the baritone, but he couldn't see as Scott shifted his weight.

"No reason. I was...cooking marshmallows in the microwave."

Cooking marshmallows in the microwave.

Nice.

"Oh." The tinier singer gave a confused expression. "Why?"

Now the blonde realized why it was so hard to keep secrets from those that you cared about. It was difficult to lie to them if they pressed. He went with the first scenario that his brain came up with. "Because I got really bored and I was watching movies and, um, popcorn gets lame after a while, you know? So I thought I would try marshmallows."

The brunette giggled, completely unassuming. "You're so strange, Scott Hoying." He paused to give his best friend a once-over. Scott tried not to blush underneath the potent gaze. "Well, if you're watching movies, can I join? Mommy is _exhausted._ Shopping with Avi is damn difficult, hunty, but really fun. I'll drop off my bags on my bed and then we'll-"

"No!" Scott blurted, moving to block Mitch from seeing inside of the house. "I-uh, w-was just finishing. And they were boring movies, anyway."

"Oh. Okay." Moving his arms a little, the birthday boy winced at the weight of all of the clothes. He tried not to feel too hurt by the abrupt refusal. "We can have a marathon then, of not boring movies. Ohmygod, I re-watched _West Side Story_ the other day and I just realized how obsessed I am with it! Let's watch it, it's so good!"

"We can't." The taller man moved to block his counterpart from coming in, _again_. "We, uh, we can't do that."

Mitch got such a wounded look to his face due to Scott turning him down that said blonde almost leaned down to kiss the sad expression away. But alas, if he dared to do so, he'd most likely end up getting smacked. He guessed that getting smacked by the person you cared for most wouldn't feel too great.

"Can I at least come in my own house?" A high-pitched tone asked, a mixture of annoyance and desperation leaking through his tone.

Scott shook his head so violently that he could swear he heard his mind rattle. "No."

"Scott, move. My arms are killing me." He gave his best shot at shoving past his best friend, and failed miserably. "Why can't I come in? Move your ass! Hello!"

"You can't come in because I have a surprise for you."

Those words caused his other half to stop fighting to get past him. "A surprise?" Mitch's lips tilted upwards.

 _Yes. The surprise is that I have no actual surprise besides your presents and I don't know what the fuck to do now._ The baritone mustered the most innocent smile he could and nodded. _Unless you count the sight of your cake exploded in the oven. Shit! What am I supposed to do?!_

"I'll take your bags and be right back." Scott gathered all of Mitch's shopping spoils (dear sweet lord, but they were heavy), stepped to the side, gave a bright smile, and slammed the door in his face.

Kirstie gave him a crazed glance when he stepped into the kitchen to check on her. The oven appeared nearly the exact same as it had been before. Paper towels covered in cake batter filled the garbage can she had next to her. As the blonde put all of the bags down on the table, the mezzo rolled her eyes and said, "Marshmallows in the microwave? Seriously?"

"I couldn't think of anything else, okay?" He shot at her. Where the hell were his own damned keys? " _You_ try and stand there while he's watching you. It's intimidating and distracting."

"Yeah, sure." She snorted as she watched him dive around the space for his car keys. "It's probably super distracting staring into his eyes. I mean, it would be, if you had a crush on him-"

"I'm going to-" His hissed threat was cut off.

"-keep Mitch occupied for at least forty five more minutes. Scraping all of this crap off is taking longer than I thought." Kirstin's expression softened once she noticed just how stressed her friend was about this. His eyes were frantic and his fingers shook. "Hey, Scotty, it's going to work out. The universe has to cooperate on Mitch's birthday. Don't stress. Just go out and have fun with him."

"You mean lie to him until you can run to the store and buy a cake." He corrected her. Grabbing his jacket from where he had thrown it on the couch, he slung it over his shoulders, walking towards the door while he did so.

"Basically, yeah."

"Sure." Scott said bitterly. He clutched the door handle and sighed, wishing that damn cake hadn't ruined part of the day. "One dishonest birthday distraction, coming right up."

* * *

Mitch laughed, covering his mouth to stifle the noise, but it was no use. Scott wiggled his invisible eyeborws, and his best friend laughed harder.

"So _then_ , I-" The blonde continued. His dark-haired companion switched from covering his own mouth to covering Scott's. His dark brown eyes were teary and bright.

"Shut up and eat your cake, you weirdo!" Mitch, still giggling uncontrollably, grabbed the fork that was lying on the plate set in front of the pair, spearing some lemon cake, and removing his hand only to bring the cake to his best friend's lips. Scott sealed his mouth shut, moving his head so the fork met his cheek.

"Ew." He expressed. The baritone really didn't favor cake. He flicked his tongue out to lick it off, and shuddered a little when it hit his taste buds. Far too sickly sweet. "Ugh, that was gross."

"I will never understand why you hate cake. It's fucking delicious." The brunette shoved a giant forkful into his mouth and sighed with contentment. After he swallowed, he smiled. "This is a really great surprise. Thank you."

They were both sitting on the roof of Scott's car, situated in an empty parking lot, more alone with themselves than ever. They'd driven to a bakery and chosen a single slice of lemon cake to bring with them on their private journey. Mitch had been reminded that cake was to be served at his party later that night, insisted that there was no such thing as too much cake, and that's how the pair ended up practically on top of each other and giggling like they were crazy.

More than an hour had passed. Kirstie had texted not too long ago that the party was going to start soon, and Scott had texted they would be returning before the turn of the next hour. He couldn't be bothered to constantly check the time displayed on his phone, though. He was having too much fun.

"You're welcome, Mitchie." Scott grimaced at the cake, scooting the plastic container towards the birthday boy. "You finish the cake. Ew."

"I'll gladly do so, my King." Mitch eagerly picked up the dessert and ate it so quickly it was like it had never been there in the first place. He licked his lips, set the container aside, and cuddled into the warmth his other half provided. He let out a loose breath. "Today was so great. I got some really cute clothes and I got to dress up Avi like he was a doll. It was amazing. And everyone I talked to today was super polite...and now this." He trailed his fingers down Scott's arm slowly, not able to hear the taller man's heart beating outside his chest, and linked their fingers together. "This is one of the best birthday gifts ever."

Before he could stop himself, the words, "This isn't your actual birthday gift, queen." escaped Scott's mouth.

"Really?" Mitch twisted around so that they were face-to-face. His featured pulled together curiously. "What is it, then?"

A microphone signed by everybody you love. A tiny cactus wrapped up in an equally tiny jacket. Those were the gifts that his best friend had planned to give him. He should've said those words.

But instead, he pressed their foreheads together for a moment, waiting to see if the countertenor would move away. When he didn't, Scott slowly and hesitantly kissed him.

Mitch tasted of lemons and sugar and happy days. The feeling of his mouth moving against his own forced a light tremble the wrack through the blonde's body, and for him to kiss his best friend even harder. God, he tasted nice. Better than nice. He tasted like victory.

They parted, each person breathing unevenly. Scott couldn't resist how prettily pink Mitch's lips looked, and when you added the fact that they were a little swollen, he bent and connected their mouths again.

"This is my surprise birthday present?" Mitch asked, his high tone breathless. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Yup." Scott trailed his fingers down his partner's spine. "Do you like it?"

In answer, the small singer brushed their lips together and grinned broadly. Mitch twined his fingers in golden hair and whispered, "Oh, yes. That was the best surprise birthday present ever."


	30. Scömìche

**I am so, so sad right now. Because this is it. The final oneshot.**

 **Let me start this probably way too long authors note by saying thank you. Thank you to you guys, my readers, whose eyes have skimmed across the words I've poured my sweat, blood, and tears into and not questioned them one bit. Y'all are so nice and encouraging and sweet and it breaks my heart that this range of random stories is ending. Thank you so much for reading, whether you've stuck around since the very beginning or you saw the title and thought, "Hey, short stories that are several thousand words long. I can fit that into my schedule!" the fact that you read these little snippets means the world to me. You forgave me when I was late and patiently waited seven days for the next piece of my fangirl heart to create something new. So thank you.**

 **My next piece of news is a lot less solemn and a bit more yay; this is not the end of Pentatonix or Scomiche for me, so please hang on! New stories are going to pop up left and right due to my crazy brain. Seriously. _The Forest of Orbis_ is starting to pick up, a Scomiche story with a bit of a fantasy twist, so if you like to read about fighting and forests and magic and the main character feeling confused more than 75% of the time, that is the story for you.**

 **I also have a new story that's going to be coming out in about two weeks called _Humble Beginnings._ It's going to be somewhere between 8-12 chapters, and tells about Pentatonix during their time on the TV show contest, _The Sing-Off,_ in way too much detail. There's going to be a ton of Scomiche in it, though! BECAUSE WE LOVE THEM SO MUCH!**

 **Another quick note about this story! If you read nothing else above _PLEASE READ THIS_ : I've been going back and re-reading some of the previous oneshots (aka _And Together We Are_ and _Colors Of The Rainbow (Part One)_ ), and I'll be going back to this range of stories occasionally and rewriting a few (not all, just a few that I can't read without having a major cringe-attack). So check back once in a while! And if there's a specific oneshot you'd prefer be rewritten that's not on my list, let me know!**

 **But _anyway_ , it's time for the summary: He will admit it. Mitch might just harbor feelings for his best friend. Feelings that are wrong and creepy and make his heart leap from his chest. So, bringing Scott breakfast after touching his face while he sleeps should go smoothly, right?**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! I heart you, my readers! Let's end this right!**

* * *

Mitch rushed into the recording studio as fast as he possibly could, trying not to flail and drop the bags of food he was carrying. They clunked, clattered, and protested against his knees. He didn't waste a second swearing aloud at them and adopted to do so inside of his head instead. They were lucky he was hungry enough not to chuck them on the ground.

He actually would have made it to the elevator within ten seconds (a record for him), but a woman he had never seen before forced him to stop in his tracks.

"Slow down, young man! Hey!" She yelled from behind her desk. It was a mess of papers, pens, and files that looked important. She abandoned all of it to stand in the singer's path. Mitch skidded to a halt in front of her. Her eyebrows raised as she regarded the singer, who was attempting not to breathe too heavily and act like he was at least semi-sane. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

The brunette lifted his eyebrows right back at her, ignoring the stitch in his side from running. His food-containing-bags finally stood still at his sides. The smell of pastries wafted in the air. "I'm running to the elevator. What does it look like I'm doing, throwing a party?"

"It looks like you're causing a disturbance." She gave him the stink eye. "A rather loud one, at that."

"Riiiiight." Mitch drawled the word sarcastically. He purposefully swiveled his head around the room. There was not a single person other than the two of them in the entire room; which made sense, really, because not many people wished to traipse into a recording studio at 5 a.m. on a Thursday. "I can see everybody shooting me the death glare. They look furious."

"I don't know you are-"

"And I don't know who _you_ are, either. You must be new." Narrowing his eyes at her, the countertenor shifted his weight until his hip was cocked to one side. His gaze searched for a pin that proclaimed her name, and he finally found it, reading the words _P. Tingji_. "Miss Tingji? I don't remember you sitting behind that desk two days ago."

Miss Tingji smoothed back a hair that had wrangled itself loose from her tight bun. "I've just been hired, I'll have you know. And I don't believe my new bosses would be pleased if I let somebody like you into the studio."

"Someone like me?" Mitch felt his eyebrows raise again while his stance became less relaxed and more on edge. She could be ready to fire anything at him; that he was a gay, his hairstyle too rebellious (not to mention his visible tattoos), she didn't appreciate his sass, just to name a few. Unlike her, the small man had the impression he knew exactly what kind of person she was. And the brand of people that she belonged to (uptight, serious, unforgiving and mercilessly misunderstanding) he wasn't ashamed to say he didn't quite favor.

"Yes, someone like you. Someone who thinks they can run around like a crazy person and get away with it." She snapped at him. Tense breath escaped from Mitch's lips. Phew. Not as bad as he thought it was going to be. "I'm going to have to ask that you leave."

"Leave?" The younger of the two made an incredulous face. "Oh, no, I am _not_ leaving yet. I have work to do." It was only a partial lie, but it would suffice.

"Work?" Miss Tingji pursed her lips. "What work could a kid like you possibly have to do in this studio?"

"I think we've had a bit of a misunderstanding." Mitch really, really hated to use his fame against people. Hated it more than he hated airplanes. But it was clear that if he didn't do that, this woman would most likely end up having to call security and then he'd have to deal with that entire mess. It was five in the morning, he was exhausted as shit, and he was running out of time. There were things to do. Like surprise your best friend. "My name is Mitch Grassi. I'm one of the singers in the band Pentatonix and I come to this studio almost everyday. So...I think that you should let me through."

Miss Tingji didn't budge. "I can't trust your word. And I don't. Meaning I don't believe you and I'm not allowing you any further."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The countertenor snarled. He took an involuntary step forward, intimidating despite being four inches shorter. "Go on your computer and look up pictures, then!"

The woman appeared like she didn't know what to do for a second, caught between following his demand or standing her ground, yet she moved away and slipped to her desk. Her fingers lightly tapped the keyboard in front of her (probably typing into Google _Mitch Grassi Pentatonix_ ) and after a moment she seemed to find something. Mitch awaited the feverish apology that was bound to be sent his way...but Miss Tingji only shook her head and sat up straighter in her chair.

"Whoever Mitch Grassi is, you look nothing like him." She claimed, gesturing at the screen.

It was way too early in the damned morning for this shit.

"Oh my-" He cut himself off before he could start screaming at her. Dear god, now he was even more late than he had been before he'd flew in here! He didn't have time for this! Mitch marched over to the other side of the desk (fortunately there was enough space across the counter that it wouldn't be comfortable for the brunette to reach for her neck and wring it violently) and peered at the screen.

No wonder she refused to see it as him; these pictures were from two years ago, all the way in 2014. He had more hair then (not just fringe that always got in his eyes), less ink, and a frame that carried more weight and muscle to it. You almost couldn't tell that it was him save the fact that the facial features of the two Mitch's were exactly alike; same dark, arched eyebrows, same full mouth, same high cheekbones, same nose that was slightly crooked, same sassy smirk. They looked more like twin brothers rather than the same person.

"That's me from a few years ago." His high tone pointed out. "Look up a more recent photo."

"I still don't believe it's you." Miss Tingji shook her head, her stare uneven and her glasses perching on the bridge of her nose like they couldn't wait to fall off. "Get out before I call security."

"Okay, you know what?" Mitch had had enough. "I'm sick of this, I'm sick of your attitude, and I'm sick of waiting because, scarily enough, I have a damn life. And I'm late to a meeting my life scheduled, thanks to you." He said in clipped words as he set the bags of food on the counter and walked around so that he was standing next to her. "Move."

"Get _out_ -"

Past patience, the singer scooted her fingers from the keys (she was too shocked to insist he leave again) and did his own search; pictures of himself from a few months ago. He restored down the pictures, then brought up YouTube. Mitch wondered for a moment what video he could pull up, decided on a fan lyric clip made for _Na Na Na_ , pressed play, and faced the unbeliever.

 _Woke up whistling like the wind blows_

 _Looking out my window just to see the shine_

 _Baby, you might call it crazy, how I'm acting lately_

 _Skipping through the sky..._

Just as Mitch's voice blared through the speakers of the computer, the real-life Mitch sung along loud and clear. Their voices matched perfectly. It was obvious that the two voices emitted from the same person.

After singing for another moment (not to mention enjoying the horrified look on the new secretary's face) the countertenor paused the video. He crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "Believe me now?"

"I...I apologize, Mr. Grassi-"

Mitch sighed. He really didn't want her pathetic _I'm so sorry I didn't realize it was you and oh god I just called you a kid don't call my boss and opt to get me fired_ speech. His oblivious best friend awaited him a few levels upstairs. God, the hurdles he jumped for his other half.

Well...maybe he couldn't say that. Scott wasn't aware that Mitch was here. Hell, he most likely thought his counterpart was still in bed.

On a regular day, he would be. Today, though, the small man had decided he didn't want to let slide as a regular day.

"Don't. I just want your word that you're not going to call up security. I can't deal with that this early in the morning." Mitch unfolded his arms and walked back to the front of the desk where the bags of food awaited. He picked them up and gazed at her steadily. "Okay?"

"Of course, my apologies-"

"Good. Have a nice day, Miss Tingji." The brunette was prepared to start sprinting, but he paused and added, "And you should seriously do some research on the studio's clients. Not all of them liked to be threatened with security and made late."

This was when Mitch turned on his heel and started running, just as crazily as he had been before Miss Tingji had halted him. He got to the elevator at his slowest time ever (about five minutes) and pressed the button thirty times more than he honestly should have. It took forever for it to finally ding open, and by that time the tiny man was almost jumping with nerves. Now that he was here, and now that he had been made late, he wondered if this was the best idea.

Stepping into the elevator, Mitch sucked in air and tried to remain calm. The elevator music offered the best comfort that it could. It helped his whirring mind to slow down, think, silence a bit of ringing that was looping around his ears.

Maybe this _was_ a bad idea.

To begin with, Scott legitimately had absolutely no clue that Mitch was going to see him in less than three minutes. He had told his best friend the previous night that they wouldn't meet up until late in the afternoon the following day, and explained the reason why was that he was working in the studio, just like he had been for the past several weeks. As each day (beginning in the early hours of the morning and commonly going until evening) passed, the usually energetic blonde became more and more tired and worn down. His smiles were a little more forced, his eyes a little more withdrawn, his stature sagging under its own weight. The countertenor knew that it was due to the stress of singing constantly, and endless hours of writing, not to mention that fact that the baritone had yet to take a break from the bedlam. So Mitch had decided to give him a surprise breakfast. It was a chance for them to finally do something together, even something as mediocre as sharing a meal and chatting.

They still cuddled in front of the TV at night and took some private time to themselves. A small chunk of the day devoted to _them_. But these days Scott fell asleep when they laid next to each other on the couch, most of the time unwillingly, and their private time spent talking and relaxing and laughing was instead spent with Mitch watching curiously at two closed blue eyes.

Mitch's thoughts groaned and smacked themselves as he recalled what those nights had escalated to. The elevator music comforted him again.

On rare nights as his other half slept, he would carefully lift a finger and run it down the line of Scott's nose. His skin was soft. So on even rarer nights, the brunette permitted himself to brush his fingers along the baritone's cheek, warm but devoid of a blush, and allowed himself to smile when the pads of his fingers turned a little pink as they were scratched with scruff from his jaw. And on the rarest of nights, on the most seldom, the nights where the moon went blue and werewolves howled and waves cashed against shores they wouldn't reach again for decades, Mitch lightly traced the outline of Scott's lips. Pink and as soft as the rest of him.

And then Mitch would pull his hand away, feeling ashamed and dirty, and wondered what kind of sick person did such things.

What kind of twisted person.

What kind of weird so-called best friend.

What kind of sick twisted weird so-called best friend traced the features of their own best friend and secretly thought they were pretty.

What kind?

And despite desperately asking himself this question, despite his disgust with himself, those rare nights started to morph from rare to uncommon. From uncommon to likely. Scott never woke up, he was so tired, and therefore never caught him. And that took creepy to an entirely new level.

But _that_...that wasn't the best part of it all. Oh, no, it didn't dare stop there, ladies and gentlemen. If it stopped there then it would be too easy.

Because the tiny man had always thought Scott attractive (he wasn't an idiot, he had _eyes_ ), but once these rare/uncommon/likely nights began to happen, it took what was an indifferent observation to an embarrassed admittance. Mitch was ashamed of himself that so many nights of this happening had actually warped his train of thought to such a degree. Best friends did not find each other attractive in _that_ way. Best friends did not skim their hands across their other half's faces in the dark with nothing save moonlight to assist them.

Best friends did not wildly think that maybe they didn't just love each other. That maybe they were _in_ love.

That was wrong.

So that's what Mitch continued to tell himself whenever his heart stuttered in his chest, caused by Scott giving him a sweet, honest smile. It was wrong for him to tingle all over if they hugged. The almost crazy happiness and eagerness he felt the moment the blonde texted him that he'd be back from the studio early so that they could watch movies was messed up.

And so, while the brunette stood in the elevator and appreciated the efforts of its music, he caught himself pondering over whether or not the gesture he was making was out of strong friendship, or strong friendship mixed with a little _hey-I've-been-touching-your-face-every-other-night-for-weeks-and-it's-kinda-made-me-realize-I-might-be-in-love-with-you_.

Right.

Mitch slapped his thoughts mentally and squared his shoulders once he heard the elevator doors ding. He would have enough time to think more about that mess later. For right now, he was not the confused lovesick twink who couldn't tell left from right if he stood too close to his best friend; he was a twink still, but a confident and worried one who brought in breakfast for their other half as a treat and because he knew the only food available in the studio came from the few vending machines in the halls.

And as he walked to the room he knew Scott recorded in, some part of his mind wondered why he couldn't be both.

* * *

Like Mitch had expected, he was too late.

He shouldn't have been as disappointed as he was, and should have figured that Miss Tingji had stalled him for that long, but nonetheless couldn't help feeling slightly crestfallen when he walked in the room and realized he would have to wait to eat breakfast with his best friend.

The countertenor traipsed to a small coffee table set in front of the equally small loveseat in the room, set the food on it, and commented, "I didn't know you got up this early in the morning. Won't Esther miss you?"

Darien Koop swiveled in his seat to face Mitch, his gaze teasing. "I don't know if _misses me_ is the correct thing to say. More like irritated because she can't make pancakes and needs me to." He chuckled. "She gave me this lecture about coming here, too. Says five a.m. on a weekday is too early to be up and out of bed."

"You should've listened to your cute soulmate, Koop, because she's right." Mitch stifled a yawn behind his hand. "It's way too early to be doing anything."

"Are you hitting on my wife?" Darien smiled at the brunette when he ambled to the soundboard and stood next to him.

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Please. I'm allowed to say your wife is cute. One, I'm gay. Two, I've known her for forever. Three.." His dark brown eyes flicked to the tall figure drinking from a bottle of water that was on the other side of the one-way glass. "...we both know I'd much rather hit on that sexy thing."

Chuckling, the lighting director shook his head. "You're lucky I pressed the mute button, or else Scotty would've heard that little slip."

The smaller man rolled his eyes. "Hello? Have you never heard of the word platonic? It's not like we're into each other or anything." _At least, he's not into me,_ his thoughts confided. Damn them always giving him away. "So I'm allowed to say that too."

On the other side of the glass, Scott rubbed at his eyes, blinked wearily, adjusted his headphones, and said into the microphone, "I'm ready, D-" His semi-deep voice cut off as he yawned. "-arien. I'm ready."

Darien switched his attention to the blonde. He flipped off the mute button (with a shushing gesture at Mitch to ensure he would be quiet) and leaned into his own mic. "Are you sure, Scott? I know I've told you this about twenty times this morning already, but maybe you should take a break-"

"No." Scott said stubbornly. His blue eyes narrowed at the glass in front of him, trying to pinpoint where the person who was speaking had chosen to sit down (since, as stated, the glass was one-way and he couldn't see). He glared at a spot two feet to Darien's left. "We've talked about this. You know why I don't want to take a break."

"I know, Scotty." Darien bit his lip. Mitch listened with high interest, his own eyes travelling back and forth between the two as the conversation took place. "But that doesn't mean you can't stop right now and take a break. We'll pack up and leave and you'll be back at your apartment with Mitch before five thirty."

The baritone smiled. Mitch could tell it wasn't a _I agree with you_ smile, and that it was more of a _I'll humor you because I'm really tired_ smile. "How about this. I'll sing the first three songs, and then I'll take a break to eat. Then you can phone Esther so she knows you're still alive and willing to make her pancakes when you come home."

"Deal." Darien said. He pressed a few buttons, tapped a knob or two, and then proclaimed, "Alright, ready whenever you are, crazy man."

Mitch couldn't help but lean forward in anticipation. Truthfully, he hadn't heard his best friend sing in a long time. His voice was always strained after he came home from the studio, and because of that he tended to not sing along to any musicals they watched (if they watched any before the blonde passed out). He had to sing at Pentatonix rehearsals, of course, but they had just finished the first leg of their world tour, and everybody had wanted to chill for a while and escape singing. Everybody except for Scott, of course. So hearing him was a treat of its own in a way.

"One, two, three..." Scott sucked in a breath, tilted his face towards his mic, and began.

Both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, he sounded fucking amazing. Your voice was like a muscle; the more that you used it (or in other words, the more you sung) the better you got at controlling it. And though using it constantly wore it out, if you were smart and drank lots of water and got a crapton of sleep, your tone could go from sounding hoarse one night and as smooth as butter the next morning. Which kind of explained why listening to the blonde's voice was like listening to a cello hum.

Kevin would be proud of that analogy.

After a few moments, Mitch started to sway. He didn't recognize the songs his best friend was singing, and that didn't stop him from swaying to twirling around the room in time with Scott's voice. His voice was so melodic. At the near end of the third song, though, the brunette had gone from dancing like a ballerina to jumping around like a mini ninja, and Darien was laughing into his hand due to it.

All of a sudden, the tall man paused in singing and asked tentatively, "Darien? Are you okay?"

Unfortunately, at that moment, the countertenor had just finished mockingly doing a high kick and had made a face like he was about to yell, _HIYAAAAAAAHHH!_ Which made the lighting director burst into laughter, realizing too late that he'd forgotten to press the mute button. The abrupt noise made Scott wince and pull his headphones from his ears with a confused facial expression that only forced Mitch to start laughing as well.

"I'm so sorry, it's _early_ and I'm so _tired_..." His high-pitched voice protested. Darien laughed harder, nodding his head along. They were both tired enough that the first mildly entertaining thing that happened made them fly into hysterics.

Scott had settled his headphones on his ears again. His invisible eyebrows pulled together at the sound of the voice that didn't belong to Darien. "Kirstie, is that you?" Another smile was peeking at the edges of his mouth.

Mitch skipped up to the microphone, still giggling, and said, "Sadly, no. I wish she was here, though, so she could appreciate my fantastic dance moves."

Immediately the blonde's expression lit up. His counterpart squashed the part of him that felt just a bit too glad about that. "Mitch?"

"The one and the only." He smirked. "Would you please get your butt out here so we can eat breakfast? It's way too damn early in the morning for you to be working, okay, queen, so I brought us breakfast in a feeble attempt to distract you. And Darien won't stop whining to me about how early it is." Said person swatted at Mitch, who dodged it. "You know how I feel about whiny people. Pretty please eat breakfast with me?"

"Yeah, of course." Scott grinned widely and took his headphones off. It only took him ten seconds to whip open the door that connected the recording room from the actual studio. His eyes settled on his best friend, who had barely stepped away from the sound board to start opening the food, and surged forward to wrap him in an unexpected hug.

"Ack!" Mitch yelped at the sudden pressure and warmth. "Could you at least wait until I got the food out? Jeez, babe."

"Pardon me for missing you so much." The baritone murmured into the smaller man's ear, his breath hot and his voice an octave lower, coaxing a slight shiver to run down said smaller man's spine. His arms clutched around the countertenor's ribcage, a little suffocating and mostly comforting.

"It's only been a few hours. It's five thirty in the fucking a.m., hunty, and we talked last night." Mitch tried to break Scott's grasp, leaning towards the food to resume what he had paused in doing, but his counterpart tightened his grip and pulled their bodies flush against each other, much to Mitch's shock.

"Still..." The taller of the two continued. Why, dear god why, did he have such a sexy voice? And why, dear god why, did he always turn it on his best friend? Was this some kind of torture, because if it was it was working. "I feel like it's been forever since we've done something together like this. I mean, besides you sitting and watching me pass out, if that counts."

It was obvious that Scott was teasing and he meant nothing by the comment; after all, he wasn't wrong, that was pretty much what happened every night they were talking together. But the mention of passing out and Mitch watching him do so made said singer tense up and move from their embrace. The blonde let him, giving a look that carried a tinge of confusion mixed with concern, but allowed the moment to go.

"I brought you breakfast." Mitch said just to say something. He gestured to the bags of food, which were seriously starting to make his mouth water. They smelled of cinnamon, sugar, and dough. "I thought we could...um..." He felt self-consciousness edge around the corners of his mind. He peeked at Scott through his eyelashes. "I thought we could sit down and eat together. Since, y'know, we haven't done that in a while."

He was stared at for a second. Then the baritone said, "Did you just ask if I would willingly eat what smells like gooey rolls and pastries with you?"

"Yup."

Scott stared at him again. "Um, _yes please._ "

Giggling, Mitch reached for the bags and opened them. He set two large containers on the tiny coffee table and popped them open. As his best friend had predicted, inside lay delicious-looking cinnamon rolls that were drenched in icing, strawberry and blueberry danishes, and a small side of hash browns and eggs. The brunette dug around the bag and produced two Starbucks coffees that came in a glass bottle. It wasn't fancy or expensive, though it was the least Mitch could do for the one he cared for most.

Somebody's stomach growled. The countertenor started laughing when he realized it was Scott's. The taller of the two didn't even pretend to be angry, just snatching a cinnamon roll from a container and sinking his teeth into it, his eyes closing and a sigh exiting his nose.

"Mmmmm..." He groaned. After chewing and swallowing, he barely managed to say, "This is _so_ good-" Before taking another huge bite from the sugary goodness.

Once his laughter had mostly subsided, Mitch turned to their lighting manager and offered, "Hey, Darien, you want some breakfast? We've got hash browns, girl."

Darien politely shook his head, heaving himself from his seat and stretching. "Thanks, Mitch, but I'm gonna walk around for a few minutes. Back's killing me from sitting in that damn chair." His spine audibly popped. "I'll be back. Also gotta make a phone call."

"Okay. There's seriously a ton of food, though, so feel free. I got a lot." A high-pitched voice said. Darien waved him off with a smile, walked to the door, and closed it behind him.

Scott didn't waste a beat. He'd already finished the cinnamon roll and was grabbing for another when Mitch put a hand on his arm to slow him down.

"What? It tastes good."

"And you're going to get sick if you eat that fast."

"I don't care." The blonde ate the roll a tish slower than his first one, though it still had the same effect on him. "Oh my _god_ , Mitch, how did you get all this food? And why?"

"I told you." He returned, sitting on the loveseat and pulling his best friend down next to him. "I'm being nice. And distracting you from whatever makes you conk out at night." Popping the cap off of one of the coffees, he took a sip, reveled it, realized how hungry he was, and plucked a danish from its spot.

Scott smiled sweetly, if a little shyly. "You didn't have to do this, you know. I'm just me."

"Oh, nu-uh, queen." Mitch wagged his pointer finger in his counterpart's face. "Don't you dare pull your _I'm-unworthy-you-shouldn't-get-me-anything-because-I-don't-deserve-it_ face and tone on me. You're working so hard that you fall asleep mid-sentence, babe. You're my best friend and I love you and you deserve this."

"Thanks, Mitchie." The man with blue eyes leaned over and kissed the man with brown orbs on the cheek. Mitch almost choked on his coffee. "You're sweet to me."

"You're welcome, Scotland." Heat rose in his face. Mitch and Scott ate in quiet for a few minutes, focused on entirely different things (Scott on his food, Mitch on the peck on the cheek he had received. It was platonic. Just like always. It was wrong of him to feel or want more), until the brunette broke it with a wildly different topic. "Hey, you know that we have to film Superfruit tomorrow, right?"

The baritone knew what his best friend meant by that without having to ask. He finished sucking the ends of his fingers (something Mitch could not help but stare at for a second before handing his band mate a napkin) and said in response, "Yeah, I know."

There was a moment of nothing. Scott uncapped his bottle o' coffee and took a sip.

Mitch stared again. "That's it?"

"What?"

"Just, 'Yeah, I know'? You're going to make time to do it tomorrow, right?"

Scott frowned, setting his coffee down. "I...I don't know, I'll try-"

"Oh, nu-uh, queen." Now when the countertenor said the phrase, it was serious rather than playful. His brown eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, you'll _try?_ "

"I have work to do."

"You always have work to do." Mitch countered evenly. Well, as evenly as he could while he was gripping a danish. "This is why I came so early in the morning, Scotty, because you always have work these days and I never get to see you. We haven't done anything together for almost a month. Not even Superfruit, and seriously, the fangirls and boys are Tweeting me until their thumbs fall off about it."

"There's so much to do..."

"What is there to do?" He asked softly. Scott's voice was worried, his tone unsure, his happy expression wavering. When he didn't answer, Mitch put his nearly finished food on the table and crawled over so that they were sitting almost on top of each other. The taller man wouldn't look at him, and Mitch cupped his cheek (a gesture so familiar it scared him. How many times had he done this while the sun slept? Thirty, forty, one hundred?) and ran his thumb underneath the purple shadows underneath Scott's eyes. They were now darker than the ones set beneath his own gaze. That was also scary. "Sleep in for one morning. Film Superfruit with me. Take a break, baby, take a damn break."

Blue pupils looked down at him, swirling and complicated. The blonde held the wrist that was the furthest, the one that sat in their laps, and twined his fingers with Mitch's. The other person tried to remember how to breath properly. "I can't take a break, Mitchie. I want to, but I can't."

"Why?"

"Because." Scott bit his lip. "This is too important for me to take a break."

"What's more important than resting?" Mitch asked desperately. He honestly couldn't think of anything that held higher worth than his best friend's comfort, safety, or amount of sleep he had gotten. Seriously. He didn't think such a thing existed on the planet.

"What I'm working on. What I'm working on is more important than taking a break. If it wasn't, I would've taken one by now."

The small man snorted. Yeah, sure. "What are you working on then, an album?"

He meant the comment as a joke, but his words made a half nervous, half excited glint flash behind Scott's eyes before he could squash it. Mitch's own eyes widened (he could read his other half so well that Scott's emotions were size 48 text on a Word document) and his grip on his best friend's hand tightened.

"Um..."

"Oh my god."

"Mitch, I-"

"That's why I didn't recognize the songs you were singing. It's because I don't know them. You didn't show them to me."

"Honey-"

"You didn't tell anybody, did you? You've been making this album for forever, haven't you? You didn't show anybody, you didn't tell anybody, you didn't tell _me_ -"

"I-I-I wanted to keep it a surprise-"

"So you didn't think that maybe, oh, I don't know, one of the band would ask you? What would you do then, lie? I'm shocked nobody has actually asked you yet, but I'm dying to know if you would've told the truth. The reason you pass out in front of me every fucking night is that you're making a _solo album_ , without us, _without_ Pentatonix. Why the fuck would you do that?"

"I'm not making a solo album-"

"Oh, right!" Mitch gave a laugh so fake and wrong he wanted to cringe at the sound. But he didn't. He stayed angry. "My bad, I forgot that it's not just a solo album, it's an _original_ album, too, isn't it? You wrote the songs yourself. No wonder you're so damned tired."

"It's not a solo _or_ original album, Mitch, would you calm down?"

"How? How, Scott?" The brunette was pulling away, shaking his head, starting to drown in panic. "How am I supposed to calm down when you leave?"

It was good that Scott had decided to create this album all by himself. He'd make his own name, stray from the four voices that were always attached to him, go huge in the singing world. And if he released the album, judging by the few songs Mitch had heard, he knew that it would take absolutely no time to sell thousands, perhaps millions, of copies, because even when Scott sung without his band, and without auto tune, all by himself with nothing but three hours of sleep and a bottle of water to keep him going, he still sounded fucking beautiful.

He was going to leave and be on his own and be successful and rich and famous.

Scott Hoying was going to leave Pentatonix.

All of a sudden, Mitch's eyesight blurred, to the point where even as he blinked the tears away they resurfaced, and then spilled over his cheeks. Scott was going to leave him.

At that moment, he swore to try and stop loving his best friend that way. He swore he'd try. He swore up and down that he'd try to stop touching his face in the night, mulling over the softness of his skin, picturing them together. It was wrong gross disgusting and creepy to think that way, think those thoughts, but Mitch had gone along and done it and now look where karma had gotten him, look at what it was going to take away. Karma would take away the thing he wanted most and would laugh while he shivered in a corner and cried out for it to come back.

"Mitch, oh god, please don't cry! Please, I didn't mean to-" Scott low voice was edged with the same hysteria that was beginning to sprint through the tiny brunette's veins. His small body was abruptly wrapped in a hug. It was his best friend, there to comfort him as always, though he was the source of Mitch's sadness. His tone broke on his next words. "I'm going to cry if you keep crying, honey. I'm sorry."

The countertenor gripped the front of his counterpart's shirt, burying his face into it. Scott smelled nice. Like vanilla and mint and everything warm in the world. And he was soft, too. His body was as soft as his pink lips. Those soft pink lips were like rose petals. Maybe Scott wasn't made up of blood and bone and a thumping heart (that was beating so fast Mitch could hear it, as his ear was pressed to the blonde's chest), maybe he was all rose petals and kindness and music.

"W-Why are you going t-to leave, Scott?"

"I'm not going to leave, Mitch. I'm not going anywhere." A stuttering laugh escaped from the baritone. "This isn't what I thought would happen when I told you. I thought you would be happy."

"You're leaving the band to go on by yourself." Mitch slowly pulled away, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, though he stayed within their embrace. His other half helped stray tears disappear with a few swipes of his thumbs.

"No, Mitch." Scott rubbed his smaller friend's back with one of his hands, winding his other arm around his little waist so that they were even more tangled together than they had been before. Mitch almost wanted to laugh at the security he felt around his best friend. Scott was the reason he was crying, and yet he ran to the blonde for comfort the moment the tears started coming. What a fucking lovesick mess he was. "I'm not leaving."

"Then why are you singing an album all by yourself?"

"It's my own personal project, Mitchie, a private album that I'm making." He shooed more tears away as he explained. "I've been writing a lot lately, and I wanted to mess around one day, so I grabbed Darien and asked if he would record me. But I realized...that I actually really like the songs. They mean a lot to me. So I've been recording and working on them all the time because I wanted to show you guys. The songs aren't for our fans, the songs are for everybody in Pentatonix. It was going to be a gift from me to you guys, my family, to show how much y'all inspire me."

"You wrote a song about me?"

Just then, Darien decided to open the door and enter the room. He carried his cell phone in one hand, obviously ending a call, and the smile that had been on his face quickly melted into a confused look as he took in the scene before him; Scott and Mitch, both red-faced from crying, clinging to each other like somebody was going to kill them if they let go, their bodies locked together in a rather intimate fashion. Scott's hands were still cradling Mitch's face, and the brunette was still fisting the front of the baritone's shirt.

In other words..."Did I interrupt something? Were...were you guys making out?"

The smaller man had the crazy inclination to prove the statement true, yank the blonde towards him and kiss him so hard he forgot what day of the week it was, but before he could do anything his best friend spoke up. "Yeah, actually, we were. It was getting good, too, until you walked in."

Automatically Mitch smacked Scott's chest. "Just to let you know, hunty, I'm not the type who cries in the middle of a hot make out session."

"Noted." The baritone nodded with a single wag of his nonexistent eyebrows.

Darien looked highly confused. "Wait..."

Scott giggled and kissed the tip of the countertenor's nose. "Am I forgiven? I promise, Mitch, I'm not leaving the band, and yes, I'll film Superfruit with you tomorrow. But then it's back to work."

Mitch's emotions reeled. He'd gone from feeling desperate to sad to curious and then happy in ten minutes. So much so in so little time. He found himself saying, "You're forgiven, Scotland."

"Thank you. Now I really do have to get back to work." The tall man detangled their bodies from one another, stood up, and pressed his rose petal lips to Mitch's forehead. "Thanks for bringing me breakfast. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." A high-pitched voice responded with a slightly wan smile. Darien had gotten past his puzzlement and shaken his head, and was now sitting at his place at the soundboard, ready to start up again. And it was only six in the morning. Ugh.

With a grin, Scott walked back into the room behind the one-way glass, and Mitch watched him go while his heart beat out of his chest. If he wasn't careful, somebody would take notice and ask why. He wasn't sure it was safe to give them an answer.

* * *

It was happening again.

Nighttime had settled over the apartment Scott and Mitch shared, cloaking the space in darkness and moonlight. Shadows stretched long, sometimes thin, sometimes thick, and there was just enough light filtering through the large windows that the brunette could almost see the screen of the television that lay several feet from him.

But he wasn't looking at the screen. As they were almost every night now, his eyes were intent on the sleeping face of his best friend, who was lying beside him on their couch.

Mitch dared to shift his weight a little, feeling the back of the couch give way to his shoulder blades. A familiar, sick excitement seeped through his veins as he saw the pale outline of the blonde sigh and move closer. This was it. He was going to do it. It was happening again. He was going to do something messed up, creepy, and just plain wrong. And every single time he did it, Scott never woke, never caught him, never held him accountable.

The countertenor held his breath, moved his hand, and placed the tip of his finger on the bridge of Scott's nose.

He didn't wake up. He was far too tired since he had sung all day and all the days before.

So Mitch gently traced along the straight line of his counterpart's nose, curiosity urging him forward, whispering that he do more. The small man skimmed the very edge of his nails against Scott's jaw, and then drew circles on his cheek with his pointer finger. He was still so soft. Even after crying his eyes out, his skin wasn't ruined with paths of tears that seemed etched onto his face, he was still soft.

Scott still had a face that was so pretty and soft yet hard and handsome at the same time. The curve of his mouth and the way his bottom lip stuck out a little was proof.

Love for the man sleeping in front of him swelled in Mitch's chest, so much he felt ready to burst. He loved every little thing about the baritone; his ambition, his passion, how nerdy he could become when he talked about sci-fi and aliens and time travel, his voice, how he always knew when to grab his best friend around the waist so that he could force him into watching _Chicago_ for the billionth time, his bright blue eyes that changed depending on his mood, and that he blushed whenever somebody said the word _sex,_ even though he had plenty of experience for it not to make him uncomfortable. He was Mitch's soulmate and he wouldn't trade Scott for anybody or anything.

And then, like always, the love in his heart dimmed, and the speed that it raced at slowed. Instead of beating with sure love, it began to beat with guilt. Familiar excitement was replaced by familiar shame. He shouldn't be doing this. It was wrong. His feelings were wrong. And it wasn't like they were going to be returned.

 _Stupid fucking idiot_. Mitch shook his head at himself slightly. _He doesn't love you like you love him. God, who would love somebody who touches their face in the middle of the night? It's almost perverted. And he's older than me!_

For some reason, though, the brunette wanted to do something tonight that he hadn't ever done. Before he could chicken out (and reminding his screaming thoughts that Scott never woke up, so why should he now), he leaned forward and lightly kissed the blonde's closed eyelids, knowing eyelids are delicate things that must be treated with uttermost care, allowed a bit of pure happiness to sing in his body, and whispered, "I love you."

A second passed in which everything in the world went accordingly. Mitch let himself be happy for that second, the night was silent, and the shadows shifted from thin to thick and back again.

Then something happened that had never happened before.

Scott opened his eyes.

He opened those beautiful blue eyes that Mitch loved so much at stared right at him.

He had woken up.

"Did you just say you love me?" His semi-deep tone was even deeper when he whispered, especially when he did in that small, tiny voice. Scott blinked at the frozen brunette lying beside him.

Mitch felt like he was going to choke, die, be resurrected, and then choke and die again. Those eyes were looking at him, though, sharp and clear and waiting, so he managed to squeak, "Yes."

"Oh." The baritone bit his lip in a way that despite the situation made his counterpart want to do unspeakable things to him. "Did you...did you kiss my eyes, too?"

Never mind. Mitch wasn't going to choke and die; his ultimate demise would be right here, right now, and due to embarrassment and shame and guilt so heavy it was going to crush him. "Y-Yes."

Scott stared at him some more. "Why?"

 _Because I'm a pervert._ Flew through the countertenor's brain like a bird to worms. That probably wasn't a very good response, however, so he would have to bring something else to the table. He could easily say why, but he couldn't do it while the person of his interest was looking at him so intently. He couldn't do in in front of anyone, anywhere, with the exception of the inside of his own head. "I..."

The blonde moved his arm so that it was winding around Mitch's waist, pulling him closer and closer and closer until they couldn't tell which pair of legs belonged to which person. He gazed at his other half, and said, "Say it again."

The brunette opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, and then closed it, gaping like a fish. He was silent and shocked.

"Please." Scott was staring at him like he was blind and Mitch was the sun. "Say it again so I know I'm not dreaming. Please."

"I l-love you." Mitch said, his eyes wide and his hands resting against his best friend's chest. His poor heart began to palpitate unsteadily.

"Say it again."

"I love you, Scott." He repeated, his voice stronger and his tone more sure.

Said taller man's face broke into a smile. "You love me? Not platonically? I'm not dreaming and you're really here and you're real and you love me?"

"You're not dreaming, Scotty." His high voice promised. He pressed his fingers to the cotton of his best friend's shirt as he leaned his face closer. "I think I might be, though."

"If I'm not dreaming, then you're wide awake." Scott's breathing was beginning to quicken, his blue eyes fluttering, his grip on Mitch's hips and waist tightening. "So this is what I get for writing a song about you."

"You work too hard." Mitch said. His tone sounded far away to his own ears, drowned out by the faint whistle of incredibility and disbelief. He balked slightly, having the vague feeling their story was moving very quickly very fast with no filler in between and lookie, there, the guilt wasn't forgetting to flow through him once more. "I...we...this is wrong, we're best friends."

"Does it feel wrong?" Scott asked, his eyes swirling.

The safe answer to that question was, "Yes."

"Do I feel wrong?"

Even though Scott wasn't touching his bare skin, the feeling of his arm around him and his fingers on Mitch's waist had his head spinning and his heart racing and his mind jumping in circles, look at them go. So no, Scott Hoying did not feel wrong. "No. You feel..." An uneven breath released itself from his lungs. "You feel really good."

"Then it's okay, I think...because you feel good too."

Nothing for a moment. Silence. Quiet. Two people wrapped up in each other, staring at their opposing half like they would vanish into thin air in the next minute, thinking absolutely nothing and just taking in.

Mitch said, his voice trembling, "Kiss me."

Scott hesitated, his heart beating wildly, and then he leaned in and their mouths met in the middle.

And, oh _god_ , did he taste good. Like honeysuckle and sweet icing. Mitch had been right all along, his lips really were like two rose petals, soft and moist and delicious things that only wanted to press themselves to him. Their mouths moved in sync, like everything else about them, so why should kissing be any different?

The blonde made a noise when Mitch bit his bottom lip, slowly slipping his hand underneath his counterpart's shirt, silent permission asked, silent permission granted. His touch was pure adrenaline mixed with wooziness.

They broke apart, their lips millimeters from each other's, gulping air and gripping their partner. So, _that_ was what kissing felt like. Fucking amazing.

"Are we boyfriends now?" Scott asked, his gaze already wandering downwards to stare at Mitch's mouth again.

"I dunno." The brunette returned breathily. He licked his lips at watched as the baritone's eyes followed the action. "You've already written a song about me. How do I know you won't go all Taylor Swift and write songs about our trials and tribulations and how it led you to finding yourself, hmm?"

Scott laughed quietly, tugging his best friend closer. And then they leaned in and their mouths met in the middle.

* * *

"Tell me that you haven't lost all of your social skills, because I can't just talk the entire time while you watch my butt."

"I wouldn't do that."

"You're doing it right now, sir." Mitch turned purposefully around and wiggled his booty. "Don't tell me you don't like what you see."

Scott smiled in spite of himself. "If you keep shimmying like that, you're going to knock the camera over."

The brunette stopped wriggling to roll his eyes. He stood beside the camera and fiddled with the Start/Stop button. It was the next day, the pair were filming Superfruit for the first time in a month, and he still couldn't help the quip that left his mouth. "My butt isn't that big. I'd have to be really going for it to break the camera."

His best friend/boyfriend/soulmate chuckled at that. "Fair point, Queen Mitch."

"You know it is." Mitch finally hit the button correctly, and a little red light popped up, signaling the camera was on and filming. "Okay, so we usually start by saying _hi_ -"

"I _know_ , Mitchie. It hasn't been _that_ long." The baritone patted the space next to him, and his best friend took it without hesitation. "You'd think I was gone for years."

"It felt like you were."

Scott instantly picked up on the hurt behind the playful jab. He pressed his lips to the countertenor's temple, murmuring, "I'm sorry about that. I really should've told you about that sooner. I didn't know-"

"It's okay, Scotty, I already forgave you." Mitch reached for his hand and linked their fingers together. "Have you forgotten we have Superfruit to film?"

After an invisible set of eyebrows were quirked, they both turned to the camera at the same time and said, "What's up, everyone!" in unison, which made them dissolve into a fit of giggles.

"My name is Scott." Scott cuddled into his partner's side with a smile.

"My name is Mitch." Mitch tilted his head up and sneakily kissed the blonde. Scott was by his side and they could get through anything and they were finally together and he was so _happy_.

They said the final line of their introduction in unison and with shy grins and their cheeks flushed pink from the kiss.

"And together we are Scömìche!"


End file.
